Burning Bridges
by Nimhithriel
Summary: Through separate psychological journeys through the realms of each others emotions, Jareth and Sarah come to share a connection beyond their wildest dreams... or most horrific nightmares... please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone!

Ok.

here's the deal with this Fic:

A year or so ago (more, i think) i wrote "Burning Bridges" and posted it here.

And despite the fact that it seemed good and liked and finished, there was something wrong with the story.

something just didn't work the way it needed too.

so, i got the courage

(FINALLY!)

to go back and re-read it, edit and fix it up.

now, not only have some confusing spots

(like all of part I and some of III)

have been re-done,

but,

i feel,

that the story is more of a complete whole.

it works.

and the ending is not a suicide one.

i was proud of itthen,

but it was never-the-less unnatural because of its suicidal nature.

I tried to get around taking the old one down, i really did.

but, it didn't work out. so - the old one is gone, here is the TRUE one.

i would REALLY love to get reviews on this.

really.

i would.

and especialy (though i feel bad asking you all to read the same story twice)

reviews from the people who have been so wonderful as to support me with the first version of

"Burning Bridges".

so

please, please, please

review.

i'm scared and i need

support!

thanks so much!

love you all!

Nimhithriel.

Disclaimer:

no, the Labyrinth does not belong to me(it belongs to Jareth), Jareth does not belong to me(we're still negotiating this), the songs i use in my fic do not belong to me(these belong to Sting, who'm i love).

the only things that belong to me are my ideas and my way of putting it all together.

the rest i have no power over, and - funny to say -

i'm afraid it has quite some power over me.

no pun intended, of course.

ENJOY.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: i'm not really going to have author's notes on this fic, unlesss reviewers have questions!

so here we go!

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**Part I: Awaken**

_Wednesday, __4/08/86_

I wish I could say that I'm glad it's all over. I want to believe it, and sometimes I do, but only on the surface of my mind, only for a short period of time…but do I really? No. Never. Ever since then, since I packed it all away and locked it up in the deepest, darkest corner of my memory – ever since I feel different. And yes, I do believe that change is a wonderful thing that makes the world go round . . . but not this. What's so bad about this change is that it isn't in my circumstances, or setting, or anything physical . . . it's me who has changed, and it scares me . . . I feel as though part of me has died – never, ever did I imagine such pain. I never used to be scared of anything - save what I had imagined to be true… now the mere thought of all that happened leaves me rigid, motionless, gasping for breath.

My baby brother worries me. He's much calmer since the . . event . . . He hardly ever cries, and when he does it's real grief, not just screaming . . . but his eyes . . . his eyes scare me the most. Usually they are just his innocent baby-eyes, but sometimes, especially when we're alone, I think my imagination gets the better of me. I see Jareth looking out at me from my brother's eyes. It's hard not to push him away or throw a blanket over him, to keep out that cold stare. Hard not to let go if I happen to be holding him at the moment . . . I hold him less and less now . . . Those eyes seem to watch me, even when I'm in my room with the door closed. They watch me all the time – I can never get away from their piercing gaze . . . They draw me in, like He used to.

That reminds me of something else about Toby that makes me shudder when I think of it – the day after all of this had happened, Toby said his first word. And it wasn't "dada" or "mama", it was "Jareth". My wonderfully concerned parents didn't even hear him, and when later they did, they confidently assumed it was just baby-noises. I heard him, however. I almost fainted when I saw those chubby lips enunciate that Name. God, I would pay dearly to know that it was just my imagination . . . yet something tells me that Toby does remember everything, and will never be as innocent as he would have been.

I see pain in his eyes and wish I could hide. Those eyes, His eyes and Toby's seem to be blaming me for all that happened. But how can it be my fault? How? Toby was in danger, and I saved him, because he is my brother . . . I paid the price, so why should it haunt me so? I already am suffering! I gave up all of my dreams so that Toby could have a normal life – haven't I been punished enough?

And now all my dreams are gone . . . that entire cushion between me and the real world that I had made for myself, it all burst like a magic bubble. And here I am, sitting in all the broken pieces that are slowly losing their former value and turning into a pile of rubbish. I could even swear that I had once seen all this happen, some old dream . . . all my old dreams aren't totally gone . . . they're just scattered and powerless – swirling around me like a broken record, until I'm dizzy . . . but there are no new ones, however hard I try to think of them . . . but then, maybe I don't try very hard . . . sometimes I wish that they still could have power over me, that I could be taken up by them . . . now all that takes my breath away is the fear, the emptiness, and my lifeless life.

Writing this is such a great help… I seem to forget now as I remember . . . I'm not making any sense, am I? I used to be such a sensible person . . . but as I read what I write, I know that it's just the echo of my broken, twisted imagination. Yet I'm glad that there even is and echo . . .

Toby's crying. Such a rare event, it must be serious – I'd better check on him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thursday 04/09/86_

I can hardly believe I'm still able to write this . . . After what happened yesterday, I should be in therapy or something . . . I rushed to see what was wrong with Toby, but I didn't need to go very far. As I opened my door I immediately found out why my usually quiet little brother was wailing. He was on the floor in the hallway, trying to haul a big box out of the broom closet next to my room. As I ran to pick him up, the box overturned, spilling out its contents onto the still crying Toby.

Imagine my shock when I recognized all my old stuff from the before days, when I still believed in my dreams and fantasies, and when Toby was just an annoying baby, instead of the constant source of apprehension and fear he had now become. Chills ran up and down my spine as I tried to wrestle him away from those things. But Toby, whom I had usually picked up with ease now seemed to weigh a ton, and I couldn't even pull him away. He was going through the whole pile, evidently looking for something, his eyes searching, puzzled . . .

As memories flooded back to me I sank to my knees, trying to take it all in, but there was too much, too much . . . And everything was so very painful . . . I hadn't seen these things for months, and they seemed to belong to someone who had passed on, not to me at all . . .

I returned to my senses from a sound, something so familiar yet distant . . . it reminded me of a song . . . yet . . . how could that be? It reminded me of something so important . . . so very, very important . . . What could it have been? As though I heard it, and at the same time lost something so very valuable . . .

But I didn't have time to even think about this – there sat Toby – grief written all over his baby face, clutching something white . . . it took me a few seconds to realize that was where the sound was coming from.

As I looked closely, I saw a beautiful doll in a white, lacy dress, turning around and around in a musical carousel . . . as soon as I recognized the doll, images flashed in my mind – I saw myself in the doll's dress, dancing, dancing to that same bittersweet melody . . . something broke loose inside me and I shuddered, gasping for air as a choked sob came out of my very soul . . .

Suddenly I felt strange, and only then realized that Toby had stopped crying. As my eyes rose from the doll to his face, yet another chill raced up my spine, and I could practically hear my heart stop . . . And then start pounding away 1000 times faster. I was looking into the eyes of Jareth.

I wanted to run, jump out the window, fall through the floor, die, just somehow get away. Yet all I could do was to back away, slowly, mechanically, my body moving ever so much slower than my thoughts. I inched my way toward the opposite wall of the hallway, my eyes locked with His, not able to tear away . . . Those eyes, those torturing, bottomless eyes seemed to hide questions in their gray – blue deeps . . . in my mind too, I read questions that I was sure weren't mine: "Do you remember now? NOW do you understand?"

"NO! No I don't" I tried to yell, but nothing came out . . . I saw another flash of pain in His eyes. Suddenly I felt myself falling, falling for ever so long . . . I must have blacked out in mid-fall, because I don't remember ever hitting the ground . . . I only remember that I fell, and something fell along with me, circling around me, brushing me with the soft tips of its . . . wings? I don't know . . . don't remember anything else . . . no, nothing, nothing more – if I try too hard to remember, it hurts me. I can't say where or why, but it does . . .

I came to my senses lying half way down the stairs, the blood pounding in my head, my arms outstretched, and not a scratch or a bruise on me. Grasping the railing I pulled myself up, too sharply, and almost fell down again. As the objects around me stopped dancing, I stood all the way up, still shaky and shivering, and once again checked for broken bones, cuts, or bruises . . . no, amazingly enough, falling down 9 steps of a steep, hard-wood staircase and landing on my back had left me absolutely whole and unharmed. Not even trying to understand it, I rushed back up to the landing of the second floor suddenly remembering all that had happened.

Aside from the mess on the floor, everything was perfectly ordinary. All was calm, Toby sleeping peacefully on the floor surrounded by all my old things. The only thing that made me start was the white doll, still clenched in his little fist. I thought I had just imagined it . . . there went that theory . . .

Still a little dizzy, I picked up my baby-brother and carefully took him back to his room, taking extra care to lock the door this time. He didn't even wake as I gingerly placed him in his crib and covered him with a blanket.

I went back to the closet and working quickly stuffed my former life back into that dark, cobwebby broom closet where it belonged, hoping never again to see it. The whole time, I had to resist taking my time and looking through every item, letting the memories fill up that empty space that my dreams used to occupy . . . the temptation was so strong, my hands seemed actually to move in slow motion, as though dragging enormous weights . . . slower . . . slower . . . every object seemed to stick to my hands, impossible to put down . . .

"But my will is as strong as yours . . ."suddenly floated up in my mind . . . there was more, but I wasn't given the chance to remember it - my hands suddenly regained their lightness, and with one swift move stuffed everything into the box, and slammed the door shut.


	4. Chapter 4

A spinning crystal shattered against a broken piece of the Labyrinth. It was thrown with unusual feebleness, and the whole of the Underground fell into disapproving silence. At least that was the way it seemed to its King.

In reality, as much in reality as anything in the Underground could be right now, Silence's reign here began upon Sarah's dramatic exit. When Jareth returned to his crumbling home, a twisted reflection of his crumbling power, Silence had already come, filling the place with an eerie, deceptive calm. Somewhere far off, in the heart of the forest Labyrinth, the Fieries still danced and howled, the Goblins and Dwarves were still scuttling aimlessly amid the broken and cutoff pieces of the Labyrinth itself, and even the fairies hadn't altogether disappeared. All of this Jareth knew and felt, but his emotions were so raw and nerves so stretched at this point in time, that the Underground might as well have been an abandoned battlefield.

_Which it is_, he thought wearily, feeling power drain from him, like blood from a wound.

He knew that he had suffered defeat, that his intended victim had escaped, and that these were the consequences the possibility of which he had known and accepted from the very beginning. He knew that right now rebuilding needed to be done, resting and regaining of at least enough power to function. Then he would be able to pull together a simpler, less dramatic labyrinth, trap some easy prey, and continue climbing out of this pit of despair he now found himself in.

But in order for that to happen, he had to forget this role of his, had to forget this particular game, had to put it all away and stop dwelling on the past.

He needed to forget Sarah.

All of this the logical part of him knew and commanded to be done. Yet, for the first time ever, it was ignored. Hour after hour, than day after day, Jareth continued to sit amidst the broken pieces of her dreams which he had created for her, arranged and presented, and which now resembled nothing but a heap of junk. Immortal, he could not die, but loosing power at this rate would turn him into a mere shadow, and then all hope of ever rebuilding would be utterly lost.

But to forget Sarah and move on was utterly impossible.

He loved her.

He loved her.

The role-playing part of him could no longer be suppressed.

He loved her.

She had made it happen.

"But the King of the Goblins had fallen in love with the girl….and he had given her special powers…" she had said, a wry smile twisting her mouth. Little did she know that her arsenal of powers now contained that insignificant little one of ruling his entire being. Her vision of him was helplessly in love with its creator.

His first real attempt to do something about this, other than think of her and suffer, came to a crash and burn sort of an ending just now. Trying to use Toby was the former Goblin King's first attempt to get to her.

She had cut him off so completely, that he could no longer enter her dreams. And how was he to get her to understand his feelings if he couldn't even do that? Toby was his only chance, but the baby's mind, though tinged by the Labyrinth, was not easily maneuverable, especially in the former King's weak state. Still, he had to try, and try he did. Nearly successfully at first.

But Sarah's thoughts of the final words sent him reeling from pain, and he could do nothing to prevent her from slamming the door on all the things that might serve to remind her of him.

Yet, the whole episode had served some of its intended purpose, as she was now constantly thinking about the Labyrinth and her journey through his realm. And writing about it – which aided him immensely. A thought containing him, set down in writing, helped him balance on the edge of her unconsciousness which she had mercilessly shoved him towards… And that was the first step to getting into her subconscious. That first step was taken. Too late to turn back now. She had to see, had to understand.

He could not live without her, banished from living within her.

She was asleep now.

Jareth tried to picture her.

His crystals were weak and blurry, and it was easier to rely on his memory.

As he thought of his loneliness, his love for her, his despair and the now accursed immortality, the thoughts and images meshed themselves together, forging into words, melting, gaining in malleability and strength, pouring out of him into the surrounding atmosphere, forming an iridescent cocoon and stretching small but steady rivulets towards the one person occupying his mind and heart.

It came as a whisper at first, unsteady, unsure – barely treading on the edge of her hearing. But as she listened, it grew in clarity and volume, coming at her, to her, into her, filling her up with something sweet and bitter, searing her heart and chilling her to the bone at the same time.

_A thousand years, a thousand more,  
A thousand times a million doors to eternity…_

_  
I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times  
An endless turning stairway climbs  
To a tower of souls…_

_  
If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars,  
The towers rise to numberless floors in space…_

_  
I could shed another million tears, a million breaths,  
A million names but only one truth to face…_

Images rose up to meet her curious mind, images of a familiar shadow she allowed herself to see no more. The voice, too, was so oddly familiar, but the tone of it was completely new to her… she listened in wonder.

_A million roads, a million fears  
A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty…_

_  
I could speak a million lies, a million songs,  
A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time…_

_But if there was a single truth, a single light  
A single thought, a singular touch of grace…_

_  
_She moved closer to him in her dream, up, over some broken pieces of rubbish. Everything was so hazy that she could barely make him out. But the voice sounded clearer the more she listened, and she followed it, almost without meaning to, drawn to its source by its unmasked sadness and pain and an inhuman gentleness.

_Then following this single point , this single flame,  
The single haunted memory of your face…_

_I still love you  
I still want you  
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves  
Like galaxies in my head_

She could make out a faint glow around the silhouette, but not more.

_I may be numberless, I may be innocent  
I may know many things, I may be ignorant…_

_  
Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands  
Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands…_

_  
Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief  
I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief:_

_  
_Sarah stepped closer yet, straining to make out his features.

_  
I still love you  
I still want you_

But when she came near enough, wishing it wasn't so dark, and looked again, she saw a clock face on the place where the singer had been sitting.

The carved barn owl lifted its wings up at an unnatural angle, forming the clocks hands which pointed at a large 13 at wich Sarah now stared in fear and apprehension.

The chiming started, and the voice she so wanted to see began to fade slowly but unstoppably out of her hearing.

_  
A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves  
Like galaxies in my head…_

_  
On and on the mysteries unwind themselves  
Eternities still unsaid..  
'til you _

_love _

_me…_

And then something came up behind her, brushing her hair back from her face with a cool, feathery touch.

Turning sharply, Sarah cried out and fell.

And woke up, reaching for her notebook and pen, like a child for its safety blanket.


	5. Chapter 5

04/09/86

evening

I think I need to write for a bit right now. I am clearly too jumpy to do anything else, and even sleep offers to rest from the surrealism surrounding me. Nightmares are nothing new, of course, but what I just dreamed… was scary because it was so alluring. I was so drawn in, that I didn't want the end to be something ordinary. Someone was singing to me, and I so badly wanted to know who it was! Yet, when I came close enough to see his face, all I remember was a clock face, and a chiming…I can't even remember what the song was about, or what it sounded like… I just remember a voice that sang to me, and I was trying to see whose it was and then something touched me and I woke up.

I wonder if it is at all connected with what happened earlier with Toby. It certainly wasn't nearly as scary as that! Sadder, but not scary. Thought, I'm not exactly sure.

Seeing me before going out, my parents made me drink warm milk and get some sleep, saying I was pale and a bit feverish. I didn't tell them what happened, and decided that it was easier to just do as they say for now.

But I didn't think I would actually fall asleep.

Physically, I feel fine though.

Now all is finally still, and I can try thinking about what actually happened . . . of course, it's harder now, much harder . . . Nothing is as clear as it was a few hours ago . . . and once again, my writing is so tangled up, strange, that it isn't any help at all. I have to write now. I must. Even though there is nothing to write about, I have to keep writing, otherwise there won't be any sound in the house. Yes, you've guessed it – my parents are spending the night out, and I have to baby-sit Toby until they come home at 13 O'clock.

Wait a second . . . 13? Where did that come from? 12 O'clock – TWELVE is when they are coming home. I have exactly one hour more to suffer. Not that I don't suffer when my parents are around, it just that if it weren't for the scratching of my pen right now, this whole house would immersed in a silence so complete . . . no, I don't even want to think of it . . . when I sit alone in the silence, it just seems to get louder and louder, until every slight sound, be it the crinkling of paper, or the creak of my chair resounds like a cannon blast. I don't know how else to explain it . . .

Now everything is cleaned and put away (I'm referring to the incident that happened earlier today), but something seems to linger – something in the air that's different than before . . . not as much of a smell, but more of a taste . . . there is no way for me to possibly describe it . . . its just . . . different.

And if I stop writing and listen very closely into the silence, I still seem to hear that bittersweet melody resounding and vibrating throughout my whole body . . . or maybe it is the one from my dream? No, it was the doll one just now, I can still feel it…

I keep wondering what it all means, but I also wonder, do I really want know? And what if those thoughts actually did come from Jareth? What will that change? I doubt that Toby knew what he was doing when getting into my old stuff . . . Did he? No . . . no, I really don't think so . . . Then why did he do it? Why, if it was an accident, which lets face it – it could have been, did He affect me so much? Cause me so much pain?

And finally, why as I wrote that last line could I swear I heard a cold voice sigh: _Why Sara? Why did you?_

Am going to turn the radio on now, this is no longer even remotely amusing. Hearing things is just not right.

I should ask my dad to bring in more roses, the ones in my room have begun to wilt.

I love those flowers… I always have, ever since I was little.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday

04/10/06

It is now 12: 42, and my parents still aren't home. Not that I'm worried about them. But they usually always keep their promises. Everything but me is completely quiet in this house, and I'm getting very sleepy. I'm not going to bed, though. Not until they come back. There is nothing I dread more right now than turning out the light and lying there, in the silent darkness, trying not panic, not to listen to all the little noises . . .

Every one of them seems to be a shadow of an old memory – before everything happened I used to imagine those slight rustlings were goblins or fairies, that the darkness was that of an underground labyrinth . . . But it was different then – then, I believed in it, and knew that it was me who was in charge – I could stop pretending and come out of my imaginary dangers whenever I wanted to . . . I seldom did, but I always knew I could.

Now I hate them . . . every one of them reminds me of my helplessness during those long thirteen hours . . . at the time, I though I was getting on so well . . . winning . . . now, the more I think of it, the more I see – every minute I was inches away from death. . . or worse. I don't know what had kept me from it, but I now realize how awfully close I was . . . how awfully close . . . And what kept me from falling and killing myself just a few hours ago? It seems that it's the same guardian angel . . . how strange that I've never believed in them . . . I'm not even sure I do now, there just doesn't seem to be any other explanation. . . I guess there really was something stronger than Jareth's hatred, guarding me from him.

1am. Still no parents. How much longer am I going to last? I can't believe they'd be so forgetful . . . I know my stepmother doesn't really care, but I thought my dad might be a little more concerned . . . but I guess not . . . what difference does it really make – not like they care about what I think and feel . . . I mean, my dad could have tried listening when I was saying how much Toby has changed . . . they don't seem to notice it at all. But that's probably because I'm the one who's always with him . . .

Why did Jareth want Toby? And what would have happened had I not solved the labyrinth in time? Would Toby really have become a goblin? Or was he actually happy there? There were definitely enough things to amuse him . . . it didn't seem like he was ill-treated . . . what's going on Sara? Why are you asking yourself all of these questions? And why am I writing in third person? That's just way too weird . . . It's late, that's why – it's late, and I'm so very tired. But I really do wonder . . . did I do the right thing? I had always thought so, always, but now I'm not so sure . . .

Keep writing Sara, just keep the pen moving, and keep going . . . It's getting so hard to keep my eyes open . . . maybe I should take a shower . . . or not . . . I don't really care anymore . . . Goodnight…


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter VI

Very much drained, Jareth lifted his head with the realization that she was, once again, dreaming.

It was sheer insanity on his part to go so far as to touch her the last time, but there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

Having her come so near to his dream self, come on her own volition, and not be able to recognize him, brainwashed by her minds own images of time running out, which it apparently associated with him, was horribly painful.

Not hearing the words, the meaning behind his song was an even deeper cut.

In near despair, he tried to touch her. Surprisingly, even for himself, he realized he could. It meant that there was a slight chance that she had not locked the door to her mind, but merely closed it.

But Jareth was too weak to think of that now, their last meeting having stolen most of the little strength still left in him. Her violent reaction, though normal for her, threw him off balance completely, and he could not get up now.

Seeing her was a lot more painful than he had though it would be – and her inability to remember anything nearly lost him all hope of getting through.

Yet, she had loosened her tight hold on her mind once more, and Jareth could not hold out, as he knew he should. He needed to wait at least another two days in aboveground time before attempting to enter her dreaming again, but he could not stop himself a second time.

He focused on her, catching some of her last positive thoughts.

Almost without realizing, he started his song, and this time, he could no longer consciously control the stream of images that Sarah's thoughts had spawned. They came from within him and took their own course, weaving the human and the fae into their web, linking them with myriads of the most fragile connections imaginable, nearly imperceptible, yet pulsing with enough magic to pull both into the abyss of dream…

_I dream of rain  
I dream of gardens in the desert sand…  
I wake in vain  
I dream of love as time runs through my hand…_

I dream of fire…  
Those dreams that tie two hearts that will never die…  
And near the flames  
The shadows play in the shape of the man's desire…

As he sang, Sarah could see the images careening through his mind, uninhibited by anything logical or calculated – a pure fire that was burning him just as much as it was burning her.

She watched her own images emerge in his dream and could not control them, either.

It frightened her.__

This desert rose  
Whose shadow bears the secret promise  
This desert flower  
No sweet perfume would torture me more than this

And now she turns  
This way she moves in the logic of all my dreams  
This fire burns  
I realize that nothing's as it seems

That last phrase caused an unpleasant jolt of memory somewhere in her mind, and something rebellious came to the surface of her emotions.__

I dream of rain  
I dream of gardens in the desert sand  
I wake in vain  
I dream of love as time runs through my hand  


She reached her hand out to the fleeting images, but could not stop them from spinning.

_  
I dream of rain  
I lift my gaze to empty skies above  
I close my eyes  
The rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love  
_

She was breathing heavily now, gasping for air, as the power of his song inundated her, intoxicated, even. She could not even concentrate on what he was saying, caught in mid-faint by the impossibility of their united dreamscape.

_  
I dream of rain  
I dream of gardens in the desert sand  
I wake in vain  
I dream of love as time runs through my hand_

Sweet desert rose  
whose shadow bears the secret promise  
This desert flower  
No sweet perfume would torture me more than this

Jareth was no less affected. What he sang was what he saw and felt in his dream, and his lack of control over himself allowed pent-up and locked-away emotions to break through and overwhelm him, filling his mind and heart.

He was living out his fantasies, as others had so often lived out theirs through him.

But it was all entirely too much for him, and he was slipping out of consciousness, not strong enough to even realize it.

It was at that moment, that Sarah recognized her dream visitor as Jareth, waking suddenly and in a panic to the last words of his song.__

Sweet desert rose  
This memory of hidden hearts and souls  
This desert flower  
This rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love…


	8. Chapter 8

04/10/86

Good night? What was I thinking – I can't believe I fell asleep! And I SAW him. I swear I JUST saw him. He was in my dream – it could not have been anyone else. I don't remember anything that happened; I don't know what he did to me. But there is sand in my hair, and I don't know how it got there, and I am bleeding.

What is he doing to me? No, that's absurd. He was in my dream. He couldn't affect my reality. He has no power over me, I don't believe in him and it is all finished. I must have done it myself somehow.

What am I doing to myself? And how? There was blood on my hand when I woke up, some kind of scratches on the palm of my hand. And there was a rose on the floor, next to my bed. I don't know where it came from, either.

What is happening? Could I have been sleep walking? I don't know anything anymore. I think I'm awake now, but for all I know this could be a dream too.

I am hallucinating. Hallucinating.

This is all a hallucination.

I'll be OK.

I'll just turn on some lights and check the time and make some tea and everything will be fine. If I can just put this pen down. And stop writing.

Its nearly 3 in the morning, and there's still no sign of my parents.

I should probably check the phone messages.

Yes, they're alive. They decided to stay at a friend's house, and left me a message at 2:30 am. How very considerate of them. Well, now that I know they're ok, I guess I can go to bed . . . but I'm not really that tired . . . at all.

And I don't think I ever want to sleep again.

So, what better way to pass the time than to read all that I've already written, and see what kind of sense I can make of it . . . I doubt it will be much . . .

A question pops into my mind and has been worrying me ever since I reread all of my notes. Did I really solve The Labyrinth? At first, it seemed so bizarre, I didn't even want to write it down, but on the other hand, since I have decided to trust all of my random thoughts and questions to a piece of paper . . . I guess I really can't stop now, huh?

So, did I? It would seem to be so, but then – I keep thinking that I was always given help. In any situation. I thought that **_I_** found the right way, that my determination helped me through, but now, I'm not so sure . . . I feel as though someone was constantly pushing me in the right direction – giving me the right tools, so to speak . . .

Take the worm, for example – he helped me see all the openings at the precise moment I had lost my self to despair and had, I'm ashamed to write it, but I realize it now – given up. In the oubliette, Hoggle turned up just in time to get me out . . . Ludo was a great help in all my situations, with his stone-calling talent, and where did he ever come from? And in the junk pile – why did my little red book turn up just when it did, to remind me of my quest? Luck? I doubt it! But then who was helping me? And why?

I don't know! Don't understand anything anymore! I didn't even solve The Labyrinth on my own! I didn't! I'm sure of it now! And yet the Goblin King still kept his promise . . . Why? I'm sure he knew of it too . . How very strange . . . He was the one who was always so unfair, so cruel to me . . . He wanted me to loose, and there was his chance – his chance to keep Toby, to have everything the way he wanted it to be . . . and yet, he didn't take it . . . WHY? He let me win, didn't he? No, he hated me too much for that . . . besides that would screw up all of his plans . . . so . . . what really happened?

Oh, I don't get it! My head is spinning from all these knew thoughts, I really can't write anymore, and besides my parents have just pulled up, so I'd better hide this . . .


	9. Chapter 9

Tuesday

04/14/86

These past few days have been surprisingly normal. Nothing strange or terrifying, no voiceless thoughts or unexplained events . . . I've calmed down quite a bit, and after once again rereading all that I wrote last week, I now wonder – how much of what had happened was just a hugely exaggerated nervous breakdown?

I mean, I was tired, scared, my nerves taut . . . I'm starting to hope that I was probably imagining and grossly exaggerating most of what happened . . . It's hard to believe it, though . . . I would love to be able to say – yeah, just nerves, imagination . . . But I know it's not true . . . lets face it, why would I exaggerate something to a piece of paper that no one but me is going to read anyway?

Toby has been just as normal as a baby should be – his eyes just as innocent as the rest of him, no dramatic changes, no wistful stares. He's serious and kind of quiet for a baby, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Yet, I must be honest to the end, if only for my own good. I've been having a sense of expectation, as though I'm supposed to do or say something . . .

I honestly don't know what. I notice it the most when I see my reflection in the mirror – I feel as though part of me that lives in that mirror . . . Not in a bad, scary way – it's just that I seem to divide in two – the me who's looking into the mirror just watches, but the me that's looking out seems to be feverishly searching for something – a word, a phrase a thought . . . But I can't find it. I just don't know. I want to know, to remember, but something within me keeps holding me back – like clothing that's too tight and restricts movement . . .

I hate this. I haven't even clearly expressed that I can't express what's going on! It seems that the world has stopped inside me, yet is spinning as fast as ever on the outside . . . But in me it has stopped, waiting for something to happen . . . And for some reason I'm sure that the something must be initiated by me, and me only! Its like . . . like a phone booth – however badly a person wants to talk to you – you are the one who must make the first call – they can't reach through to you, how ever hard they may try . . . did that make sense? Well, sense or no sense – that's the only way I can possibly express it . . .

My parents are going away again tomorrow night – this time warning me that they might stay out pretty late . . . .I'm not worried. I think I should be, but I'm dead calm inside – even glad. The only time I have to actually think things through is when I'm alone, babysitting Toby. With chores and homework and the never-ending busyness of the day, I hardly have a moment to myself until late in the evening. But by then I'm usually too tired to think straight, and there is a lot I would like to think about . . . all those questions I wrote down insist on haunting me and simply won't go away unanswered, so tomorrow I'm going to sit down and try to make some sense out of the tangled mess my jumbled thoughts have become in the last week. Yes, tomorrow . . .


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter VII

It was the Goblin King's luck that the sun was never keen on setting over his Labyrinth. It lingered here for ages, and now, it as it lingered over the remnants of his kingdom, the afternoon warmth kept him alive, as well as his hope for reforging his connection with Sarah. Three aboveground days had passed, and he had recuperated enough to think clearly again.

The dream connection he had undertaken, though very draining on him, was working. She was starting to pay attention to some things her mind had been trying very hard to ignore, and that meant that she would soon start questioning her journey through his realm and finding certain inadequacies in her theories, giving him a slim chance, but a chance never the less.

Unfortunately, he could not control his power as well as he needed to, and his emotions took control of him when he sang to her in her dreams. That was what really drained him, more than anything else.

Still, there was no turning back, and he needed to see her again.

Although her attempt to convince herself that he does not exist was bringing him dangerously close to despair.

He watched her, waiting for her to drop asleep and ease the gates to her beaten down and denied fantasies.

It made him incredibly sad to see her do this to herself, to see her afraid of her own imagination, which was one of her loveliest traits and most powerful tools. – To see her lock it up and shut it away into a dark oubliette – to forget about. Was she so frightened of him as to inflict this on herself? Why would she ever think he would, could harm her? He loved her, did she not understand? Did she not see?

No, no she didn't.

Somehow, she was blind to that fact.

The remains of his Labyrinth were looking worse and worse each day, soon to be a desert or maybe just a junk heap.

But he could bear loosing his kingdom if he didn't have to face loosing her. His fae aspect disagreed, but was again ignored.

What did it all matter, he thought? What did he need it for if not for her?

He walked along an old abandoned road, in a field, in seemingly the middle of nowhere. She could see his figure from her vantage point, high on a hilltop, behind an old tree. He walked slowly, as though without a thought for where he was now or where he was going. His voice was on the wind, talking to her, calling to her. She knew very well that is was a dream, and refused to be frightened. He could do nothing – let him only try.

_A stone's throw from you_

_I walked a lonely mile in the moonlight_

_And through a million stars were shining_

_My heart was lost on a distant planet_

_That whirls around the April moon_

_Whirling in an arc of sadness_

_I'm lost without you _

_I'm lost without you_

_Though all my kingdoms turn to sand_

_And fall into the sea_

_I'm mad about you _

_I'm mad about you_

He stopped walking and stood still. Somehow knowing where she was, he turned in her direction and continued, taking a few steps towards her now and again. Sarah deliberately did nothing, telling herself that it was a dream, and nothing more.

_And from the dark secluded valleys_

_I heard the ancient songs of sadness_

_But every step I thought of you_

_Every footstep only you_

_And every star a grain of sand_

_The leavings of a dried up ocean_

_Tell me, how much longer? _

_How much longer?_

He was coming closer and closer now, and Sarah's fake indifference was becoming too much of an appearance for her to keep up. She saw him clearer now, and saw that he was looking straight at her, as though she was in plain sight and not hidden behind the trunk of a huge tree.

Saw his eyes.

_They say a city in the desert lies_

_The vanity of an ancient king_

_But the city lies in broken pieces_

_Where the wind howls and the vultures sing_

_These are the works of man_

_This is the sum of your ambition_

_I'm mad about you _

_I'm mad about you_

He would soon be able to reach out and touch her, and he didn't look like he planned to stop before that point. But Sarah couldn't move. A apart of her wanted this, wanted to encounter him again. It was fascinated, watching him come closer. This situation seemed so familiar to her. As though it had already happened in some different setting. Although then, he did reach her and, then, she hadn't pulled away…

_And I have never in my life_

_Felt more alone than I do now_

_Although I claim dominions over all I see_

_It means nothing to me_

_There are no victories_

_In all our histories, without love_

She listened hungrily, almost letting him in, almost willing him to come close. He looked at her again, questioning.

Unable to breathe from the intensity of that stare, she turned away and sank down onto her knees, closing her eyes and leaning back against the tree trunk, behind which, she knew, he stood and looked at her.

Softly, he sang again

_I'm lost without you _

_I'm lost without you_

_And though you hold the keys to ruin_

_Of everything I see_

Sarah looked up in surprise at those words. **How could that be?**, she wondered, and gasped. He was right in front of her now, sitting on his heels, his haunting face inches away from her own. His voice dropped down to a whisper, and she could feel the air move across her face as he said:

_Though all my kingdoms turn to sand_

_And fall into the sea_

_I'm mad about you _

_I'm mad about you_

She shut her eyes, curling into fetal position, wanting to wake up and get away from the intensity of the moment, and hating herself for it. She grasped for something to pull her out of this nightmare-turned-fantasy and dear old habit lent a helping hand. Toby's crying had always been just the thing to interrupt her day-dreams. Except soon, she realized she was not just imaging it.


	11. Chapter 11

Wednesday

04/15/86

Another disturbing dream.

My mind is out to get me.

This needs to stop.

Toby is crying, which I HATE, but at least, thanks to him, I woke up. Will have to write about dream later, as it's too much for me at the moment.

My God! How can a baby cry so loudly! Especially a baby who's been quiet for weeks and weeks! The house rings with his wailing!

I've tried everything to block it out, but even deep in the pillows I hear Toby crying . . . if I can even use that word for the noise he's making! I want to yell at him, to slam doors and break china! I can't believe that he can still cry like he did in the before days!

This night is going to be VERY long, and I don't think I'll get to sort out any of my questions . . . TOBY! HUSH! What else can I do?

I can't believe I almost said it. I was so close to saying it; I break into a nervous sweat just thinking what might have happened, had I not rushed out of his room right now. There is no way to calm down but to write it all out, and hope my heart won't burst from what just happened, so here I go.

I went into Toby's room, with the full intention of picking him up and carrying him down to the living room so he would fall asleep on the rocking chair. I swear on all that is holy that that is what I meant to do. As I walked in, though, the old Sara came alive in me – I got pissed off at Toby, yelled at him to stop crying and before I knew it, threatened to call the goblins to come and take him away.

Yes, I actually did. That old threat slipped out of my mouth even before I had thought of it. I tried to stop myself, but it was halfway out, and all that my efforts lead to was the half-whispered ending.

My heart stopped, I literally froze on the spot. Even though I could hardly hear my self speaking, Toby abruptly stopped crying and looked me full in the face – a strange, half eager, half fearful look . . . compelling me to keep going, telling me to **say it**, **_say it,_** **_SAY IT_** **** I didn't hear anything; there were no thoughts in my mind, just a loud humming sound . . . I stopped breathing for what seemed like hours, and the worst part is, I felt my lips moving by themselves, and heard my voice, clearly but as though through great distance, say: "I wish . . . I wish" Then, I just ran.

I don't know how I got out of that room, how I got out of the house, and how I managed to get these papers on the way, all I know is – I'm not going back anytime soon.

Yes, I'm outside. Yes it's cold. I don't care. I'm so glad I can write this down – I think I would have gone crazy if I hadn't been able too. And there was me yesterday – thinking that everything was more or less back to normal . . . How could I believe that everything can just stop once it's started? And I finally realize that something has definitely started. Took me long enough. At least now I know that much, and will hopefully stop lulling my self into a false sense of security – something that I only now realized I'm very prone to do.

It's so strange that I'm finding all of this out about myself . . . finding out things that I don't think I would have realized had I not had all of these emotional shake ups . . . Someone's helping me again. That some mysterious someone that helped me solve the Labyrinth is now helping me sort myself out . . . Who can it be? I don't have any friends that know about all my troubles – lets face it Sara, who would believe them? I don't believe in fate . . . so who is it?

Everything's quiet back in the house . . . I guess I should go in, no sense to stay out here. If all that's happening will help me find this person or friend or spirit, or whatever it is, then I definitely want to face my fears – if only to find him or her.

Why would they help me though? Do they hate Jareth? What does Jareth even have to do with my life? Why was I singled out? And why does a part of me feel so drawn to him? I thought all connection between us had dissolved when I found Toby, supposedly solved the Labyrinth and came back . . . had it? Why do I still feel his power? Not over me, that's gone now, but he does seem to have something to do with everything that happens . . . and then there are the dreams… everything that has happened has had some connection with his world . . . Maybe the connection between us is still there because I didn't really solve the Labyrinth by myself, and he none the less returned Toby . . . Is that the answer? No, it can't be . . . That's too simple, and Jareth isn't simple – it's got to be a deeper connection than that . . . But what can it be?

That's it, I've come to the end of every logical chain that I've made, and it still doesn't make any sense . . . I have only created more questions in answer to the ones I had before . . .how much longer? I need to know – it's becoming hard to concentrate . . .

Maybe I am so freaked out right now because of that stupid dream. The things my mind come up with, honestly! I can't even remember most of it. It had something to do with Jareth, I'm sure. The thought of him affects, I am so drawn that I get frightened just thinking about it. I wish he'd stop tormenting me. Why does he hate me that much?

From now on, I will stop letting my thoughts of him intrude into my life. He does not exist, for all I care, and he HAS NO POWER OVER ME. He is not allowed into my dreams. No more of this.

That's it; my fingers are numb, my questions have run dry, it's too dark to write, and I could swear I saw an owl swooping among the branches . . . or maybe I only thought I did, but in any case, I'm going inside . . . what ever happens, happens . . . It's really to late to turn back, isn't it?


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter XI

Anger gave the former Goblin King strength. He didn't think he could ever really feel wrath at Sarah, but this was too much.

How dare she not see? How dare she turn away? Now? NOW, when he told her openly that he loves her, that even though she destroyed his entire world and nearly destroyed him?

And what answer did he get? "You have no power over me".

She was lying to herself, and he knew it. on his own, he had no power over her. But a part of her granted him this power. A part of her believed and was completely open to him.

Maybe that is what made him angrier than he ever thought he could be. He saw the part of her that not only cared for him but wanted him to come to her, to find her, to be with her. He saw **that** Sarah which would always believe in him, which would always be open to him. And before he could get a good look at that aspect of her Self, which she was for some reason so afraid of, she snatched it away, burning all of her bridges behind her.

How dare she do it?

The control freak inside of her snatched up the reins and steered like mad toward the exit, to get out at any cost.

Why?

Again, he asked himself why she did this to herself, and again he could come up with no answer.

But now he knew that the old, dreaming Sarah was indeed alive within the haunted girl who could not stand his invasion of her dreams. He knew it, and he knew that his connection with her could never be truly broken if she remains alive.

He picked up a piece of charcoal rolling it in the palm of his hand.

He felt much stronger now. He would watch her, he decided. He would watch and wait and build up his strength. He would make her remember what had truly happened.

That it was **she** who pulled away in the ballroom, that it what **she **who broke that fragile world and that it was **she** who destroyed her own dreams and his world.

He remembered her genuine surprise at his words concerning keys to ruin and who was holding them. So, she didn't remember, did she?

She will. Eventually, she will. He'd see to that.

In the meantime, not a single thing she does and thinks will go by unnoticed. He would watch and wait.

Sinking to his knees in front of one piece of a labyrinth wall, Jareth poised the charcoal over it. Bit by bit, the charcoal lines lost the appearance of random strokes and Sarah's face appeared on the crumbling piece of wall… Jareth could remember every move, every expression of hers, every step, every tone of voice…

"_Every breath you take_

_Every move you make_

_Every bond you break_

_Every step you take_

_I'll be watching you…"_

Sarah jumped, as the words of the song started to hit her. She was so used to listening to music absentmindedly, without really hearing words in songs, without really paying attention to the whole meaning behind them. Now, for some reason, her ear was caught, and she could not go back to her reading.

"_Every single day_

_Every word you say_

_Every game you play_

_Every night you stay_

_I'll be watching you_

_Oh can't you see_

_You belong to me_

_How my poor heart aches _

_with every step you take"_

She felt a shudder run through her. In vain did she try to tell herself that she was making things up and that it was just a song on the radio. It was really too late for that.

"_Every move you make_

_Every vow you break_

_Every smile you fake_

_Every claim you stake_

_I'll be watching you_

_Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace_

_I dream at night I can only see your face_

_I look around but it's you I can't replace_

_I feel so cold and I long for your embrace_

_I keep crying baby, baby please"_

Biting her lip again, she felt herself rocking back and forth, fighting the chills that insisted on using her backbone as a racing track.

"_Every move you make_

_Every vow you break_

_Every smile you fake_

_Every claim you stake_

_I'll be watching you…"_

As the song on the radio came to an end, Sarah, who had been biting her lip the whole time, abruptly rose and ran out of the living room, where the whole family was enjoying some time together after dinner. She had been feeling rather relieved to spend some time in the company of her parents this evening, thinking that nothing disturbing could reach her there.

Now the paranoia of being watched intensified to absurdity, and she couldn't sit still unless she was in a corner with her back to something very solid. Every slight rustling made her jump.

Jareth smiled.

Interestingly enough, she just did all that completely on her own.

It meant that their connection was getting stronger, if she could interpret his thoughts without him having to even help her. It's too bad she is still so scared of it. But, oh well – as long as its working, what did it matter?

He would let her realize "by herself" then, since she couldn't handle him telling her straight out.

It was easier on him, anyway. But, unfortunately, a slower process.

Now, what was he going to have her "discover" next?

Ah, yes. The Ballroom scene. And its painful ending.

Goodness, when he sang to her of the world falling down, he had no idea she would take him literally.

And he closed his eyes, remembering the time when he first touched her, held her. When she was so overcome, she had even forgotten to struggle. And for a while he, too, was living out a part of his fantasy. Unfortunately, the memory of it, though vivid, was infinitely less satisfying.


	13. Chapter 13

Saturday 04/17/86

How many times can a dream come to a person? Why does it come? From where? There seems to be a dream that lives within me. It doesn't just replay over and over again, like those other broken record dreams, it actually lives . . . It is so vivid, so real, that every morning when I wake up I feel as though I have just lived it. It has now come back 2 nights in a row, and I took the first chance I had to write about it.

It's like a very important memory that comes back to you over and over again. I have a feeling that something like it has actually happened, not too long ago . . . It's also got a very Labyrinth feel to it – the air is different, things keep sliding in and out of focus, there aren't really any significant events, yet it seems very important as a whole . . .

It comes from Jareth's world . . . I think I see his face in it a few times . . . I'm there, all dressed up, all of me as light as a feather, and then . . . It's so hard to remember! I'm dressed up . . . dancing . . . I think I'm at a sort of ball . . . yes, something like that . . . His face flashes by a few times . . . then it all ends. I can't remember how, exactly . . . but it all stops very abruptly . . . I see something shattering . . . then I wake up –

Oh, but there's so much more to it! I seem to miss the most important parts! Dancing . . . ball . . . Jareth . . . shattering . . . Dancing . . . ball . . . Jareth . . . shattering . . . there's got to be more! But I can't remember it . . .

OK. Let's try this: Logic is my friend, right? So, lets be logical. I'm at a ball. How? Why? Who knows! I've never even been to a ball – how can I possibly remember one so vividly? Ok, stop. I'm getting distracted, and that won't help at all. Try again.

If I'm at a formal ball and dancing, I can't just be dancing by myself, right? I've got to be dancing with someone . . . who though? Try Sara! Try to remember it! You've seen it . . . no, you've LIVED it at least 3 times! You've got to remember! Who was at the ball? There were a lot of people there, but no one looked familiar . . . no familiar faces . . . Faces? There were no faces! All of the faces were covered . . . all covered . . . MASKS! Yes, that's it! It was a masquerade ball! Logic does work!

Ok, back to my dancing partner. What can I remember? Try . . . Try harder . . . tall . . . no mask . . . NO MASK? If there wasn't a mask, I had to have seen his face, right? He led me around the dance floor; my feet were moving without me even thinking about them . . . what _was_ I thinking about? I was spellbound by something . . . His eyes held my gaze . . . Now wait – he wasn't wearing a mask, I was looking into his eyes . . . how come I don't remember a face? I had to see it; I have a pretty good memory! Why don't I remember it? Stop. I'm going in circles, and circles aren't very logical. Let's move on.

Jareth. What's there to say? All I remember is seeing him somewhere near while I was dancing . . . His haughty gaze and overpowering eyes . . . That's really all that comes back to me . . . Moving on.

The shattering. What shattered? What can shatter? Glass, what else . . . Where did it come from? There was actually a lot of glass around . . . glass tables . . . glass chandeliers . . . glass jewelry . . . ornaments . . . everything was made of glass, come to think of it . . . even the floor . . . maybe even the walls . . .so, I guess everything just suddenly broke, shattered, burst . . .how can that be, though?

Once again. Everything around me shattered at the end. Why? What could possibly have caused it? Did some one break it? It's possible. Then who? There really aren't that many options . . . my partner, Jareth, or me. It's got to be one of us, because I'm sure everything didn't just break on it's own. So who could it have been? Which one of us? Another circle . . .

Now what do we get from everything I've just put down? Nothing. We don't get anything. Nothing comes of all this so-called logic but a heap of thoughts that are even more tangled up than before . . .


	14. Chapter 14

Sunday

04/18/86

How stupid I had been. How very naïve and ignorant. I thought I had grown up, learned to think logically and deduce the correct information. In reality, it turns out that all my "logical thinking" stopped me from seeing the obvious, from putting two and two together. I can't believe it. I wrote the answer down – and didn't even bother to read it until now.

It was all there, all on my paper. The answer I had searched so hard for was in front of me: Jareth. I had danced with Jareth at the masquerade ball. He was the one who led me around the dance floor, whose proud face was the only one I saw – the only one without a mask. His eyes held my gaze and caused me to forget and disregard everything else. How very simple. Why did it take me so long?

A lot of things still remain unclear. The shattering end, for example. I've narrowed the causes down to two, but it's impossible to decide, as I really have no memory of the end. The only thing I can kind of remember was a rush of emotion, like an awakening . . . then a sense of being . . . trapped? I 'm not too clear there . . . and then everything fell apart . . . yes, fell is the very word . . . fell . . . fell apart and fell down . . . the whole entire world I was in fell down with me . . .

And yet another thing that makes no sense to me: This memory is definitely from the Labyrinth, right? I mean – Jareth, weird things happening, dream-like quality, goblin masks, falling . . .That's all one world. But WHEN could that have possibly happened? I remember everything so perfectly – everything that took place is crystal clear in my memory – except for the ball. I can't place it at all . . . I'm positive it happened . . . I really couldn't have made it up . . .

Let's see . . . Toby is taken . . . I go into the Labyrinth . . . I start seeing all the openings . . . Helping hands . . . oubliette . . . Hoggle rescues me . . . Jareth . . . cleaners . . . Ludo . . . Fireys . . . Hoggle again . . . Bog of Eternal Stench . . . Sir Diddymus . . . Ludo's talent . . . strange peach . . . my room/junk pile . . . Goblin city . . . staircase Labyrinth . . . I'm home.

Now where does the ball fit in? There are only two parts that aren't exactly clear – first, when I bit into that peach, I was in a forest. I felt nauseous, dizzy, and I kind of fell down. I must have fallen through a trap door, because when I looked around, I was holding Lancelot and walking into my room (which later turned out to be just part of a huge junk pile)

The second part that's confusing was when I jumped to get Toby in the Staircase Labyrinth. I jumped, then I remember a swirling, a crumbling, and then I was home, a shadow swooping out of my window. Something happened between the jump and home, I'm sure something did, and I'm sure it was very very important, Jareth's power sort of broke, I guess . . . But it doesn't seem to be the right sort of time and place for a magical ball . . . no, the ball must have happened earlier . . . but when?

Where does it fit in? I'm sure I remember it happening . . . but excluding the two situations I just mentioned, there weren't any time lapses . . . This is something I have to think about for a while, and to myself . . . A lot of things have been clarified through my writing, but this is one of the exceptions, it seems. I'm glad I can remember this much. Hopefully I will relive it all tonight, and maybe it will all become clearer still.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter XIV

She was getting there. It was torture having to watch her do it, though. Wanting to scream every time she nearly came to the right conclusion and turned the wrong way. Why was it never so frustrating when she did that in his Labyrinth? He even enjoyed having her fall into all of his traps. He had gotten such pleasure from watching it.

But now, when no one but herself was stopping her from getting to the heart of the matter, it was agonizing to watch.

And he no longer had control over time, no longer was its guardian. Much as he wanted to turn the hands of all of his clocks forward, he could not. And besides, there were no clocks and no hands to turn anyway.

Needing to speed up this process in some way, he got to work on the parents. It is a hard thing, even for a powerful fae, to manipulate the minds of practical and self-absorbed adults. It was that much harder for the former Goblin King.

But, in the end, Sarah ended up alone.

He had meant to visit her dreams again during those several days, but was forced to leave her alone in her quarantine, again underestimating the power he had left.

It was maddening, really – to not be able to follow at least every **other** whim. And at times he needed to remind himself that, though Sarah was to blame for this, he had already forgiven her, and needs her there with him, needs her to rebuild what she destroyed. That there isn't long left to wait now.

His logical, darker fae nature insisted on nagging him more and more. The longer Sarah took, the more it urged Jareth to drop this foolishness and start fresh, or to use the third way of regaining power, which would be so much better than the first, and so much more satisfying.

To rule her, to rule her body and her mind, to not leave her a choice of believing or not. The way was not new to Jareth, or his kind. It was a common practice among faes, and he wouldn't have even thought about an alternative route to it, had his enemy been anyone else. But the part of him that loved Sarah resisted, still managing to keep the upper hand, which was becoming increasingly difficult.

This struggle with himself did nothing to help the already precarious situation, and, unresolved, it tainted his thoughts and dreams of Sarah.


	16. Chapter 16

Wednesday

04/21/86

Yes. I was right. Everything is definitely becoming clearer. Slowly, true, too slowly for my impatient thoughts, but it is clearing up. I've come up with four things that I didn't pay attention to at first, but that are nonetheless very important.

First – the ball is where I heard that melody my doll dances to. I was dancing to it myself – around and around and around, just like she does. And just like her, I was dressed in white.

Second – I now remember that all throughout the ball I had been searching for something, I don't remember what, not yet, but I was definitely searching for something other than Toby, because I don't think I even remembered him at the time.

Third – I clearly see myself smashing into a glass wall with a chair, or something like one. So it was I who sent all the glass flying, I who shattered that eerie world that then fell down around me and, actually along with me. I had fallen too, and I had landed in all the broken pieces that had become junk. I think it actually might be the same pile of junk that my "room" was part of. This leads to some interesting points and more questions, but I'll come back to that later.

Fourth, and most importantly – there were words in that melody – important, meaningful, words that contained an even more important message. I feel like I would instantly know the answers to all of my questions if I could only remember, or hear those words. But I didn't hear them, even when all of this actually happened . . . the whole thing was so overpowering, that I couldn't pay attention to a detail like that . . . now I wish I had . . .

Most of these point's came to me after I had dreamed it for the 3rd time. The last one, though just seemed to come from thin air, because I still only hear the melody, however hard I listen. So how do I know there are words? I don't. Or, rather I just DO. I realize the truth of it, although I don't know how. There are, that's all. But it's useless to even think in that direction.

I'm actually remembering a lot more by writing all my thoughts and memories down . . . that way I can concentrate on the details without worrying about losing my main thread of thought. A lot more is coming back to me.

I'm so curious, so intent on knowing, and remembering – I'm not that scared by all the strangeness that surrounds me. It has now become second nature to me. I mean – this is what I wished for all my life, isn't it? To be surrounded by strangeness? To never have an ordinary life? Now, I can finally appreciate it. I'm glad I've learned to.

Yes, there's strangeness all right. Only now do I realize that I haven't been writing anything but my own thoughts down, so it's unclear as to what goes on around me. I've talked of the nighttime strangeness, but forgot to mention day. Let me fill you in.

My parent's have gone away for a week to stay at a relative's house in another part of the country. Today is the third day they are gone, and I'm quite used to being alone with Toby. Actually – it feels strange to admit this, but I kind of like it. There's nothing to distract me from the thoughts that are top-most in my mind, I don't have to hide my thoughts or my papers from anyone, I can be myself, and I haven't been myself for ever so long, that it feels wonderful – like a nice stretch after being curled up in one position for a while. My parent's are coming back late on Sunday (today is Wednesday, by the way), so I've got four whole days to myself.

Toby and I get along just fine together – he also seems to be his old self again, just a little calmer. Now and again a strange look will pass across his face, but I've learned to disregard these . . . perhaps he, too, is trying to figure things out. I feel like I have two really good friends – my writing and my baby-brother.

Oh- something else I should tell you: I took my old things out. All my old friends have been dusted off and are back to their proper places – even the doll in white. Although . . . that's not exactly true . . . she's not exactly in her proper place . . . Both her and the little red book that has had such a big influence on me are separate from all my other things. They are locked up behind glass in the far corner of my bookshelf.

I look at them often, thinking, questioning analyzing all that had happened, but I seldom touch them. This is one of those strange things I was talking about – they have an emotional effect on me. After I hold them in my hands, or even stare at them for too long, I become emotionally unstable, quick to anger, quick to cry. I've tried to make some reason out of it, but it doesn't seem like something reasonable, so I stopped trying, and just let it be . . . maybe sometime, when I've found the answers to other questions, I will be led to solve this riddle too.

Toby was extremely happy when I took out all my old things. He laughed and gurgled and insisted on touching everything. The book he treated just like everything else, but the doll caused him almost visible pain.

It seems to have the same affect on him as it does on me. He didn't throw it down, or do anything really; he just sighed so sadly it almost brought tears to my eyes and gently put it down, watching as I placed it behind the glass. I wonder what he was feeling . . . and why . . . I was her for a little bit, so I can see kind of why I have some emotional connection, but Toby? I don't know . . . could he have seen me?


	17. Chapter 17

Thursday

04/22/86

This whole day I've been feeling miserable. I want to cry, I feel as though something terrible, awful has happened, that it's somehow my fault . . . Not that something has just happened, but more like it happened a while ago, but I was deaf and blind to it until now. Some thing is weighing down on me . . . a sense of . . . what? Pain that I brought to someone, a fault that's all mine, I don't really know . . . and if I do, then I can't really express it . . .

I think that this feeling ties in with my masquerade ball dream . . . it seems to intensify whenever I think about that, whenever I hear that melody, see myself or the doll dancing around and around . . . That breaking, that shattering feeling now seems to be inside me . . . As if, along with the glass, something else was shattered . . . someone's dream or hope . . . something else happened then, something I can't quite understand . . . something unexplainable . . . irreversible . . . and incredibly sad . . . And it's my fault. All mine.

I want to make amends, somehow fix everything . . . but I don't think I can . . . I don't think it's something that can really be fixed . . . like when you break a crystal vase - the pieces are too small to glue back together . . . all you can do is realize that, and sweep them up before you or anyone else gets hurt.

My feelings and thoughts are so unclear. Even though I have gotten better at expressing them, they are still like moths fluttering around a lamp . . . their moves are sudden, sharp, unexpected . . . they go the right way only for a second or two, and then veer off their path . . .

Writing them down usually works well enough to study them, but when I do that, I have to wait a while before I can track where they are going . . . this analogy is getting way too strange . . .

Anyway – I'm kind of disappointed that writing about my feelings hasn't made me feel better at all . . . it usually helps me come back to myself, but this time I only feel worse after writing it all down . . . now it seems more intense, the fault seems heavier . . . I keep thinking that I hurt someone . . . or my actions did, but that's really the same thing . . . who did I hurt? How? Why? I wish I knew . . . maybe it would hurt me in turn, but how could I have hurt someone else so much that it is coming back to haunt me, and not know about it?

Too weird, too strange, and too sad . . . maybe I should go talk to Toby . . . yes, I talk to my baby-brother. I have the comfort of a good listener without judgment or bias. I'm sure Toby understands every single word I say, I'm positive he does, thought I'm not even going to try understanding how . . .

That being the way it is, I don't tell him nearly as much as I write down . . . just the few things that are especially bothering me . . . I mean, I _could_ walk around and talk to all my toys and things, but it's far better having a live audience. My thoughts become even clearer when I say them aloud, helping me understand and deduce more and more . . .

Toby listens carefully, always looking at me, not missing a word of what I say, and seems to understand more my thoughts than the words I use to express them. Even when the words come out all wrong, I see that he understands my point. Don't know how; don't want to go there. I don't usually get much of a reaction from him.

I think the only time I did get one was when I started talking about that mysterious someone who had been helping me solve the Labyrinth . . . After I said all I thought on the subject, my little brother gave me this look – I could swear, if Toby could talk, he would have been saying: "OMG Sara! I can't believe you; you with all your logic still don't get it! _Think about _it!" I did, but still couldn't come up with any possible answers. Toby knows it though . . . he knows a lot more than me, and understands everything I'm just trying to understand . . . I think that even if he could talk, he wouldn't say anything, and let me figure it out on my own . . . I guess I should be grateful for that, but it's hard to swallow . . . it's just so like Jareth . . .

That question I posed seemed to kind of upset Toby, now that I think about it . . . he was looking sad for the rest of the day . . . I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice it then, but I remember it now. I know I will understand though. Eventually, I will. Sometime.

There are now 3 days left until my parents return . . . I think I should rewrite all my notes, or maybe put them into a sort of journal . . . maybe date them, too . . . That way I can try drawing some parallels between thoughts or events . . . Yeah. That's a good idea . . . it will keep me busy and give me another reason to reread them. Again.


	18. Chapter 18

Thursday

04/22/86

This whole day I've been feeling miserable. I want to cry, I feel as though something terrible, awful has happened, that it's somehow my fault . . . Not that something has just happened, but more like it happened a while ago, but I was deaf and blind to it until now. Some thing is weighing down on me . . . a sense of . . . what? Pain that I brought to someone, a fault that's all mine, I don't really know . . . and if I do, then I can't really express it . . .

I think that this feeling ties in with my masquerade ball dream . . . it seems to intensify whenever I think about that, whenever I hear that melody, see myself or the doll dancing around and around . . . That breaking, that shattering feeling now seems to be inside me . . . As if, along with the glass, something else was shattered . . . someone's dream or hope . . . something else happened then, something I can't quite understand . . . something unexplainable . . . irreversible . . . and incredibly sad . . . And it's my fault. All mine.

I want to make amends, somehow fix everything . . . but I don't think I can . . . I don't think it's something that can really be fixed . . . like when you break a crystal vase - the pieces are too small to glue back together . . . all you can do is realize that, and sweep them up before you or anyone else gets hurt.

My feelings and thoughts are so unclear. Even though I have gotten better at expressing them, they are still like moths fluttering around a lamp . . . their moves are sudden, sharp, unexpected . . . they go the right way only for a second or two, and then veer off their path . . .

Writing them down usually works well enough to study them, but when I do that, I have to wait a while before I can track where they are going . . . this analogy is getting way too strange . . .

Anyway – I'm kind of disappointed that writing about my feelings hasn't made me feel better at all . . . it usually helps me come back to myself, but this time I only feel worse after writing it all down . . . now it seems more intense, the fault seems heavier . . . I keep thinking that I hurt someone . . . or my actions did, but that's really the same thing . . . who did I hurt? How? Why? I wish I knew . . . maybe it would hurt me in turn, but how could I have hurt someone else so much that it is coming back to haunt me, and not know about it?

Too weird, too strange, and too sad . . . maybe I should go talk to Toby . . . yes, I talk to my baby-brother. I have the comfort of a good listener without judgment or bias. I'm sure Toby understands every single word I say, I'm positive he does, thought I'm not even going to try understanding how . . .

That being the way it is, I don't tell him nearly as much as I write down . . . just the few things that are especially bothering me . . . I mean, I _could_ walk around and talk to all my toys and things, but it's far better having a live audience. My thoughts become even clearer when I say them aloud, helping me understand and deduce more and more . . .

Toby listens carefully, always looking at me, not missing a word of what I say, and seems to understand more my thoughts than the words I use to express them. Even when the words come out all wrong, I see that he understands my point. Don't know how; don't want to go there. I don't usually get much of a reaction from him.

I think the only time I did get one was when I started talking about that mysterious someone who had been helping me solve the Labyrinth . . . After I said all I thought on the subject, my little brother gave me this look – I could swear, if Toby could talk, he would have been saying: "OMG Sara! I can't believe you; you with all your logic still don't get it! _Think about _it!" I did, but still couldn't come up with any possible answers. Toby knows it though . . . he knows a lot more than me, and understands everything I'm just trying to understand . . . I think that even if he could talk, he wouldn't say anything, and let me figure it out on my own . . . I guess I should be grateful for that, but it's hard to swallow . . . it's just so like Jareth . . .

That question I posed seemed to kind of upset Toby, now that I think about it . . . he was looking sad for the rest of the day . . . I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice it then, but I remember it now. I know I will understand though. Eventually, I will. Sometime.

There are now 3 days left until my parents return . . . I think I should rewrite all my notes, or maybe put them into a sort of journal . . . maybe date them, too . . . That way I can try drawing some parallels between thoughts or events . . . Yeah. That's a good idea . . . it will keep me busy and give me another reason to reread them. Again.


	19. Chapter 19

Friday

04/23/86

Here is yet another memory that has suddenly come alive; woken up, fluttered, stretched it's seemingly fragile wings and took off with such an enormous force, that I barely managed to hang on to it. I do not think that such a memory can ever be forgotten, but nonetheless, I will write it down now, while it's still fresh, and I'm not missing any details.

I was outside with Toby today, as I usually am at around 4 o'clock in the afternoon. He was playing in the sand box and I was just staring into space, into myself, rather, and trying to catch all of my elusive thoughts . . . There are so many now, so many thoughts, guesses, questions . . . they all go different directions, and if I try to follow one of them, I always end up losing track of all the other ones . . .

Anyway, Toby got pretty bored and started destroying all of the sand castles that he had so meticulously for about the fourth time, so I went inside and got him some soap bubbles. It now amuses him much more than it used to . . . He spent about ten minutes trying, and of course failing, to catch the bubbles I blew at him. After a little while, tired of doing it for Toby, I dipped the wand into the soap and held it up in front of him.

Delighted by the effect produced when he blew into it, Toby quickly learned the art of bubble blowing. I watched him for a while, until once again my thoughts began to wander and zigzag like lazy butterflies . . . I left my brother to his fun, knowing very well that the butterflies would soon turn into hawks, and that I needed to concentrate.

Soon my thoughts indeed took off, and brought me to remembering all that happened. I remembered how several days ago I tried to place the Magic Masquerade ball – it didn't seem to fit in anywhere, and I remembered how there were only two lapses in time . . . That got me thinking about them, and more specifically about the second one.

I tried so hard to think, to remember, but as I went deeper and deeper into my memory, I felt as though I was trying to push through very dense, almost soupy, fog. Fog that I hadn't put there. Weird, I know, but bear with me.

After what seemed like hours of this, though really it was probably only minutes, images started flashing in my mind. I saw myself jump, and just keep falling forever so long . . . then I saw something white in front of me, something alive and white . . . a blur . . . Jareth? Something or someone in white, holding something toward me . . . if dreams were a physical thing, I would say that whatever it was, was offering me a dream . . . there is no way to describe it . . . I saw myself speaking, though I couldn't hear what I said. I just saw that, and then everything spun, turned inside out, broke, fell, and as all of that was happening I stretched my hand out to grasp, or maybe to catch something . . .

That, I THINK, is where my memory ended. I'm not entirely certain though.

A crystal ball came floating toward me. I distinctly saw a crystal ball. Glistening with thousands of tiny reflections on its round surface, dreams hidden in its shining depths. It came closer . . . closer . . . straight toward me, as though drawn by an invisible string . . . closer . . . closer yet . . .

Almost mechanically I held out my hand, somehow knowing that the crystal would come to rest on it. Every thing slowed down to an impossible crawl, just my heart was racing faster than ever . . . I anticipated the weight of it, the polished smoothness of it's surface, the answers that would come along with it . . . It floated closer still . . . I held my breath . . . The crystal touched my fingertips.

For one moment I l looked into it's swirling depths. A shadow looked back, with eyes so proud, yet so incredibly sad . . . but only for a moment. Before I could even register what had happened, there was no crystal. It was only a bubble, a bubble that had burst into millions of tiny water droplets, never to be put back together. Never.

A shudder of pain went through me – not burning, or bone-breaking pain, it was different. My every nerve seemed to receive a shock, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe . . .

Once again I saw the images, but now there wasn't any fog, they were all clear and sharp, like the edge of a knife. Again I saw myself say something, something that didn't bother me as I was saying it, but that now caused me to writhe in pain. Again and again that scene replayed before my inner gaze. First I only saw my self, but then I saw Jareth. It was him that I was speaking to. I saw the altered look on His face, as my lips moved, carrying the electrifying words I could only feel . . . A broken, hopeless look . . . helpless almost . . . ended . . .

Pain, this time my own, and perfectly real now seared me . . . For some time, probably a few minutes, I just sat there, the world around me first coming back to my eyes, then fading from them, as all of my emotions finally caught up with me. As soon as I could move, I turned to Toby – about to cry.

I wasn't the only one. Tears were rolling down my brother's cheeks as well. His pudgy little hand was clamped onto the bubble-wand, and lifted halfway up to his lips.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter XVIII

Unable to watch this any longer, unable to stand her pain and her memory that had reawoken his own pain, Jareth went so far as to pace. She was remembering it all so vividly that he, who was in almost constant one way mind-touch with her, had just been forced to re-live that too.

Double emotions were new to Jareth.

Hell, even his own emotions and having to deal with them was a new thing. And one he did not enjoy at all.

But he could not pass up a chance like this. She was awake but in her dream-dimension at the same time. He had to see her, to touch her, once. He had denied himself the chance of doing it, finding it necessary to be content with simply watching her sleep to conserve his almost faded powers, but he could not resist any longer.

Reaching out, he sang of the fragility of feelings, of love, of life. Of dreams.

He sang and sang, hoping to help her see, hoping that this would be the last push she needed, and watching her cry without even realizing it…

_After the rain has fallen_

_After the tears have washed you eyes_

_You'll find that I've taken nothing, that_

_Love can't replace in the blink of an eye_

Was that his voice? She thought it was, but she couldn't be sure of anything now, still overawed by the pain she had to both feel and witness, and knowing that she caused it.

_After the thunder's spoken, and_

_After the lightning bolt's been hurled_

_After the dream is broken, there'll _

_Still be love in the world_

_Still be love in the world_

Why would he say this to her, if what she had just seen was true?

If she had just destroyed everything, if she had caused him so much pain?

SHE broke the dream.

She BROKE it.

And him.

_On and on the rain will fall_

_Like tears from a star _

_Like tears from a star_

_On and on the rain will say_

_How fragile we are _

_How fragile we are_

_If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one_

_Drying in the color of the evening sun_

Images of the crumbling Labyrinth, steeped in the rays of the ever-setting sun flooded her mind. He's right, it did look like blood. Like his blood. It was a part of him and she had shattered it. How solid it had all seemed, how unconquerable. And how fragile it turned out to be.

_Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away_

_But something in our minds will always stay_

Yes, **only forever, only forever, only forever,** she kept repeating to herself, taking solace in the pain.

_Perhaps this final act was meant_

_To clinch a lifetime's argument_

_That nothing comes from violence_

_and nothing ever could_

_For all those born beneath an angry star_

_Lest we forget how fragile we are_

Forget? She may wish to forget it at some point, but it would certainly never happen. She would never forget this. Ever.

_On and on the rain will fall_

_Like tears from a star _

_Like tears from a star_

_On and on the rain will say_

_How fragile we are _

_How fragile we are_

Suddenly the sensation of someone taking her into their arms flooded her already traumatized being, and she broke down, choking with sobs.


	21. Chapter 21

04/23/86

I sat there, on the grass, staring at him, the tears having started their route down my cheeks as well. How quickly everything had happened! I felt as though it had taken hours, like I had lived the most important moments of my life just now, and yet, not more than five minutes had passed . . . . . . I felt like I understood all I needed, and a second later, I lost all that I understood . . .

I scooped Toby up and carried him inside, both of us shaken, so full of conflicting emotions, it seemed as if we were emotionless. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, I wondered at how calm and composed I look, while inside I am a chaotic mess of thoughts and questions . . . Toby knew exactly how I felt . . . I could tell, by the way he looked at me . . .almost with pity . . . strange, isn't it? It's as though he can see all of me, inside and out . . . He fell asleep very quickly, almost before we had even gotten to his room.

For some time I sat near him, trying to calm down, to reason, to think . . . trying to figure out, to balance myself. I hadn't really succeeded, as you can probably see . . . I tried, but it was just too much . . . the force of all that had happened has knocked all sense and stability out of me.

Now I'm back in my room, trying again to sort all of this out . . . to . . . OK . . . try . . .

I feel as if Jareth was broken by what I said . . . or maybe it was his power . . . I just keep thinking that I had to have said something extremely powerful, something that wrecked everything . . . but I don't know what it could possibly have been . . . It must have been . . . what? Nothing but "powerful" and "bad" comes to mind . . . It has to be true, I mean _I_ was the one that caused every thing to . . . how did I put it? "Everything spun, turned inside out, broke, fell" Yes, that. That's what I did with five or six words. HOW?

There's something else that really bothers me. It won't give me any peace until I have written it down, thought it through, analyzed it from all angles, and made some sense out of it . . . Though I sincerely doubt that it will ever come to that. Yes, anyway – here I go.

Let's try Sara; you won't get anywhere if you don't . . . Ok . . . I keep thinking that maybe . . . Jareth _didn't_ hate me. Bizarre, isn't it? I even want to go further, and say . . . no, no I really can't . . . It would be too unbelievable . . .too overwhelming . . .

Well, if I keep going at this pace, I'll never get anywhere! I think I'm just afraid. Afraid of toppling my many theories that were all built on the "Jareth hates me" foundation, which is now beginning to crumble. But I shouldn't be afraid. I don't want to be. I'm not. Actually I am, but I'm going to pretend I'm not, and put down what I think. I really am.

Here goes: I think . . . that . . . Jareth . . . . . cared. He wasn't hateful, He wasn't cold, He wasn't even indifferent. He actually cared about what happened to me. He didn't show too much. . . but . . . He cared. And in the end, it wasn't just His power over me that was shattered; He was affected, almost wounded, by my words . . . Himself . . . but . . . WHY?

Unless he…

No.

This is so . . . so . . . too much. I can't . . . process it . . . He didn't hate me . . . he . . . wanted me to succeed, didn't he?

To win. To solve his Labyrinth and find Toby in time . . . How many theories that kills . . . But how many things are becoming clearer . . . My thoughts actually are, I think. But it's all so strange!

It turns out that I was valiantly fighting against some one who was, in fact, helping me . . . that someone was Jareth, wasn't it? The proud Goblin King . . . . But then, why didn't I see this then? I was so wrapped up in myself; in winning in beating him and time . . . I wasn't aware of anything else . . .

And there was something to be aware of.

What if he …? He must have.

It is the only explanation…

He must have lo…

MY GOD, WHAT HAVE I DONE?


	22. PART II: Chapter 1

**A/N: Thank you to eeryone who has taken the time to review! i appreciate it!**

**and so, i shall post part 2 without stalling (only forever... right?)and whining...lol. **

**Its a bit different, but there IS a system to it all! i promise!**

**AngelaScarlet: yes ma'am. posting:)**

**SilverWing02: thanks, i'm glad you like it so far! What can i say, Sarah is a confused (..and slightly dazed..) little girl right now... but she'll figure it all out, she's pretty bright... i think so, anyway...we'll just have to see. lol.**

**HiddenOperaAngel: yay - good for you that ur curious! thats how sarah is too! the whole toby thing will be clearer at the end of the fic. Its not clear cut, though..more like a bond he and Jareth share b/c of Toby spending the 13 hours in Jareth's constant company as a baby...quite the baby-sitter, eh? heheh. Toby has a connection with him and will never really loose it. Kind of like fanfic writers..and readers...;)**

**here's part 2, enjoy!**

**PART II:**

**Chapter I**

"Sarah - . . . Sarah . . . Sarah – listen to me . . . Sarah?"

She woke up suddenly, blind with the unfinished dream that had carried her off, wrapped up in its soft, magical wings. She had been far, far away – somewhere so nice, so serene, somewhere . . . But that didn't matter now – the magic had been cut short, her dream rudely interrupted, and even the fairy dust was gone. What had woken her?

"Sarah! Can you hear me?"

A sound? No, she couldn't hear anything . . . the pillow-like silence of a cold November night pressed in on her from all sides, stifling, killing every noise that tried to penetrate it. She could hear nothing . . . yet she was wide-awake in the middle of the night on a Saturday. How often did that happen? She sat up, tucking her feet under herself, trying to keep in as much warmth as possible, her mind in confusion, her huge, gray-green eyes wide with wonder and fear.

"Please, please listen Sarah! Hear me!"

A touch? Almost . . . she didn't hear that just now . . . no, she felt it . . . but . . . Her heart beating wildly she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate, clear her mind and listen . . . No, not listen, there was nothing to listen to . . . right?

"Sarah – just listen to me, just listen – it's hard to get through to you . . ."

That cold, oddly familiar voice . . . the same breathtaking accent . . . she could almost see the pale gleam of his piercing, hauntingly mis-matched eyes . . . almost see that proud face of his, almost . . .but how could that be? Yet it had to be him . . .

"Jareth?" she half whispered, half screamed; the memory becoming to much for her forced calmness to deal with. It was too strong – her thoughts and emotions broke loose from the tight ball of absolute attention she had forced them into a few seconds ago, and were now wildly chasing themselves around and around her spinning head . . . so dizzy, she couldn't understand anything he was . . . saying? thinking?

"Sar . . . . . . . . . . li . . . . . . . don't . . . . . "

It was all coming to her through the static of her own confusion. She couldn't stop guessing, wondering, thinking, her emotions would not be suppressed, she was close to losing hope of ever hearing that velvety voice again . . ._Help!_ She thought, mentally reaching out to him.

Pain shot through her forehead, blessed, cleansing pain, killing all of those unwanted thoughts she had been trying so hard to catch . . . _Concentrate, _she told herself, _just calm down and concentrate . . . C'mon Sarah, you can do this, this is easy, right? Deep breath, close your eyes . . . ok, you're calm . . . Jareth?_

"Look into the mirror . . ." Came to her like a breath of fresh air, sweetly perfumed with the rich tones and that characteristic accent you could never forget.

Shakily she got up and stumbled over to the mirror, faintly glinting at her from across the dark room. A pale, wide-eyed girl of sixteen looked back at her – no longer a child, but as far yet from a woman as a down-covered swanling is from a majestic swan. Already out of the shell, but not yet fully feathered . . . Her hair, indeed seemed feathery, gleaming pure black in the pale moonlight that the mirror reflected on to her delicate face.

Suddenly her reflection blurred, the mirror becoming clouded and filling with numerous reflections, just like the inside of a giant crystal ball . . . _Which it probably is_, she told herself, wondering at her own wonder. Once again she saw a feathery silhouette – nothing more than a shadow, really. She couldn't see his features, not even the unforgettable eyes that had haunted her dreams, nothing but the silhouette . . . _I guess that's the way he wants it . . . _and finally – that voice of his had caught up with her. There was so much she wanted to know!

"Save it, Sarah. I know – you're dying to understand it all, but there's no time – just listen."

That was a command. Yes, it was very definitely Jareth. If she had even the tiniest of doubt left about that, there was no mistaking it now. Still as sarcastic and haughty as she remembered him, still as overpowering, and still knowing her better than she knew herself.

**But I must know! How is it that you can talk to me? How did that happen when you said that it could never happen again? How – **

"Sarah."

_**I have to know!**_

"Get used to disappointment."

God! He was still as unbearable as ever! She could almost see his Cheshire cat grin, almost taste the irony in his voice as he enunciated that last, cruelly mortifying phrase. He definitely hadn't changed.

"Something strange is happening Sarah – something that even I can't fully understand – "

_Imagine that! _She thought . . . but quickly checked herself in mid thought and continued listening – his tone was far from the usual cool one he preferred to use – it was troubled, worried, even distressed . . .

"Sarah, please listen – this is extremely important! Time has turned back. You have done something to turn it back – you have to stop it!"

"_**WHAT?"** _She almost screamed, but ended up biting her tongue just in time – the last thing she needed was for her parents to see her talking to a Goblin King.

_**What are you talking about?** _She thought venomously – the panic rising up in her chest was barely letting her breathe.

"You didn't do anything strange Sarah? No careless words or wishes? You do have powers you know – I did give them to you. Unfortunately, as you also know, you broke the bridge to my world, and I can no longer watch over you, keeping you out of trouble, or at least correcting your mistakes . . . Sarah, Sarah . . . what have you done?"

_Really. It figures. He didn't know._ Didn't know that she had been a perfect angel this past year – no only did she not play pretend, she didn't even imagine anything out of the ordinary. True, she had one wild, all-denying tantrum after last seeing him, when she almost broke the mirror . . . but after that, and up to this day she had been a model child.

She was perfect in school, the perfect and reliable daughter, the perfect big sister to Toby, in other words – someone so completely opposite of the old, dreaming, emotional, fantasy-filled Sarah, that it took her parents a long time and many doctor visits to get used to this change.

She was sure he could read those thoughts as they flashed by her, blurring together into a nearly visible blue- gray streak, but just to be sure, she emphasized them, and mentally hurled them at the mirror, receiving shocked, puzzled silence in return.

**_Exactly what HAS happened?_ **She asked carefully, not wanting to provoke him into another sarcastic paradox he was so fond of.

Too late.

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all! Just that time started working backwards and everything that I had managed to rebuild since you destroyed it started falling apart all over again. Along with my power. Oh, and lately, I've also been feeling your emotions. I wasn't sure for a long time – you were so unnaturally calm, but when your old temper flared up – I knew it. I've been trying to get through to you ever since."

**But how – **

"I don't KNOW!" he snarled. Nearly a tangible slap in the face. "If you haven't noticed, I don't really have control over anything now, thanks to you!"

**Jareth, you know . . . **

"Yes, sure" he interrupted again, his voice – a hiss. "Sure I know – you're s o r r y and you want to f i x it . . . or so you say . . ."

_**I AM sorry – in case you've forgotten, it nearly killed me – though you probably don't care enough to remember!** _She mentally yelled back. She could feel him flinch, as though from pain, but didn't hear a response. How could he forget – it had only been a year! Didn't he know that she'd do anything, ANYTHING . . .

**_You know I wish – _**

"Sarah, stop!"

**You KNOW I wish I COULD do something! You KNOW that if I could relive everything all over again, it would have been different! I only wish I could . . . **

Her words carried themselves into the nothingness between them, fading away into the distance, echoing a little as they crossed the threshold between two worlds . . . She could hear herself breathing, feel her own pulse, but she felt like she was suspended somewhere in space, waiting, waiting for an answer that she knew would come, even though she hadn't asked him anything. For a moment there was complete, absolute silence, and then she heard the long awaited response –

"Wish granted, Sarah. Already."

**_What do you mean? _**She questioned tentatively – His icy-cold tone and tired, worn out voice were not exactly fitting for a wish granting.


	23. PART II: Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

_What does he mean_ . . . Wishing he knew, Jareth elegantly uncrossed his usual boot-and-tight clad legs, stretching out on his throne like a cat on it's favorite sofa. Gazing deep into his crystal, he could see her dim silhouette and read the colorful array of thoughts that flashed through her head ever few seconds. His strength was slowly but surely depleting, but she needed to understand the depth of the whole situation. And the danger.

"Do you know what happens when time starts moving backwards?" he asked, knowing very well she didn't, but asking all the same.

**_You're the Goblin King! _**She snapped back, **_you should be the one to know these things!_**

My, her patience was wearing thin. You'd think a sixteen year old would at least try to listen, but then again – this was Sarah, and Sarah wasn't just an ordinary teenager. Who else knew that better than him?

"Sarah – time is running out, and I can't talk to you much longer – just remember: if you have a choice, don't come back. If there is anything you can do to prevent this from happening – do it."

**But why? What would happen if I do come back? Jareth you've got to tell me – I have to know this!**

_Perfectly right, she did._

"_At the very least, you'd have no choice but to retake every step of your . . . What's the word you like to use so much? Adventure. And, most likely, you won't be able to avoid all of your missteps and things you didn't "mean" to do."_

_She wanted the truth, didn't she? There it was. Lets see how she deals with this little slice . . .Hopefully she's gotten over the – _

**I can't BELIEVE it! THAT'S NOT F –** . . . _ almost knocked the crystal ball from his fingers. Well. Guess she hadn't._

"Fair, Sarah? Your dying to say it, aren't you? Perfectly true - it's not. Sweet dreams."

Feeling her wrath and knowing she was really close to the edge right now, Jareth decided that it was time to end their little conversation. He hurled the crystal at the floor, and it shattered into millions of tiny fragments, instantly becoming part of the sparkles that made up a great deal of the Labyrinth.

_Not fair . . . what does she know about fair? Her world isn't falling apart all over again, she doesn't have moments of weakness and fatigue . . . her emotions are still her own . . . _

_She doesn't know what it's like – existing. Not even living, because he couldn't, wasn't allowed to live within her, and not too long ago he had found out that another 'he' couldn't live without her, either. That 'he' would rather die . . . if only it could. _

"…_a thousand years, a thousand more, a thousand times a million doors to eternity…"_

Shuddering he remembered what had happened about a year ago – when she had realized that she destroyed his world and believed that he had gone with it. She had tried to destroy herself as well. It took an extraordinary amount of strength and years to recover it, but he had gone to her then, merely a shadow. He had suffered the torturous pains of double emotions. Her fear and heartbreak over the thought that he was gone, her sense of fault, her hopelessness weighed down on him, along with his own worry and fear that he would come to late. It all dragged him down, and if it wasn't for the strong winds of the storm that evening, he would never have made it in time.

He did. She lay senseless, almost a corpse in his arms. He didn't know how long he sat on the floor amid the broken glass, holding her, stroking her beautiful hair . . . didn't know whether he was crying her tears or his own . . . didn't know exactly when she came too, saw him, looked into his eyes and whispered "don't leave me".

For the first time in his endless life, he had no control over anything, including himself. It tortured him for years after – he had never been through that much pain and yet been so happy all at once – what could it all have meant?

First, he had admired her, wanted her beauty, her spirit, and her innocence . . . but then there was more. Slowly, too slowly he started to realize that he _needed_ her there, near him – it was no longer a question of want. After she had pulled away at the Masquerade Ball, he felt a hurt so deep, penetrating the defenses that no one else had been able to . . . for no reason at all . . .he put too much of himself into her dream image of a romantic villain . . . when she had shattered his world, he nearly came along for the ride.

And now- something like this. Years, centuries of attempted healing, rebuilding – all of them wasted. Time had turned back, seemingly to give him another chance, to allow her to come back; he could almost see the happy ending. But not quite. As glittery as it all was on the surface, it made no sense if you really thought about it –as Jareth had been doing these past few months. Life seldom offered second chances. The Underground – never. It was a place where everything seemed to be possible, but nothing was exactly as it seemed. And second chances just were not a possibility.

Rising with the fluid grace that you often hear described, but almost never have the chance to see, Jareth made his way across the throne room. He headed for the huge balcony that wound it's glittering way all the way around the highest tower of the Castle. The "balcony" was, in fact, only a narrow platform, thousands of feet above the ground, and lacked everything that a proper, self-respecting balcony would have considered mandatory; more particularly seats and a railing. But the Goblin King was an immortal with magic on his side, so a railing was an unnecessary extra. Besides, he was always restless, and never felt the need to sit down, save when he was extremely bored, or felt the need to concentrate his thoughts.

Pacing to and fro, sometimes on the seeming solid bricks of his "balcony", sometimes on the thin, but apparently dense air that surrounded it, Jareth pondered his situation. Beneath his feet lay the Goblin city, and spreading out on all sides of his Castle was the Labyrinth, glinting with thousands of sparkling eyes, and alive with memories of Sarah.


	24. PART II: Chpater 3

**Chapter III**

Sarah sat up in bed, once more fully awake, and completely aware of what had happened last night. It was early, no one was up, and that meant she had some time to herself. _Good, we can try and figure this out then._ With that thought she bounced out of bed and ran over to open her window.

A feather greeted her from the windowsill, brilliantly white and shining with dewdrops. Quiet beautiful, actually. _As though I really need a reminder!_ She thought, but nonetheless took the feather inside and stuck it in her mirror frame, where it contrasted brightly with old photos of her mother and weird-looking pictures she had cut out from art magazines.

Jareth's memo did its duty, however –Sarah sat down on her bed and began to think about what he had told her. _What does he mean – the time has turned back? _She mused, playing with her long, dark hair, _what does that mean? Why should I not go back under any circumstances?_

She remembered his parting words – when she saw him in her mirror for the very first and, she thought, last time. He had said that they would never meet again, that all connection between her world and the Underground was destroyed, and that he wouldn't be able to see or hear her . . .

_Ever? _She had asked then, her voice betraying her thoughts on the subject . . .

"Unless some higher force intervenes" he had answered wearily, "it would take more power than I could ever have . . ."

_Then it is forever . . . _she had said quietly, her eyes filling with tears.

"Yes," he had answered "Only forever"

Then he was gone, and she was sure she'd never see him again, never hear his voice, never see his eyes . . .for some reason that she didn't understand, she wept then, wept bitterly, deciding that life wasn't worth it, and throwing her self at the mirror where she saw him a mere half hour ago, hating everything, and most of all, herself. That was as far as her memory could comfortably reach. Beyond that point lay haziness and fog so dense, that she had no idea what had really happened.

If she had known what really happened, if she had remembered herself fainting from her extreme cuts and loss of blood, remembered strong but gentle arms picking her up and cradling her, like a child; usually proud and haughty eyes weeping crystal tears, the cold voice she thought she knew so well, singing softly to her, then she would have known that her wounds had magically healed, her mirror had been magically restored, and escaping life had been brought back into her frail body by the magic of love.

But, her memory retained nothing of those events, and seeing both herself and her mirror completely whole and well when she came to, Sarah's logical mind assumed that she must have fainted before reaching the mirror, and come to only a few minutes after that – excluding the possibility that anyone, let alone Jareth, had been there next to her, and had saved her life.

Now, she saw him again. Even though it was not a completely unpleasant encounter, she was surprised to find that the Goblin King was still too much for her to handle. She was, like it or not, still pretty much at his mercy. Jareth had not visibly changed – except that he seemed extremely worried about the whole time thing . . . So what if the time turned back? She didn't see anything terrifying or tragical in that - it would be really cool to be able to go back there and visit the Labyrinth again! Or maybe it just seemed that way now; when she was safe and sound in her own room, knowing very well that pretty soon it would be time to take Merlin and Toby for a walk, and then help out with breakfast.

Maybe she was kind of scared at the idea of literally coming face to face with Jareth . . . A magic mirror is all very well, but you couldn't just turn your back on a person . . . or fae . . . and especially not a Goblin King.

Watching the sun come up and take it's usual asymmetrical place in the pinkish-orange sky, Jareth watched Sarah's thoughts. It was becoming easier for him – the bridge that she had shattered was rebuilding itself . . . actually, it was shattering backwards, but that was not something to dwell on.

So she hadn't remembered. He had supposed as much – it would be too much for her if she knew – it was too much for him! Those long hours that had floated by as seconds were replaying themselves in his memory over and over again. He would hate to have to relive that. Yet, if time behaved like it was supposed to, it would eventually stop moving back, and start moving in the right direction once again, compelling her to relive everything. And as powerful as he was, he had very limited control over time –so he would most likely have to relive everything as well, and that would be torture.

"…_on and on the rain will fall – like tears from a star, like tears from a star…_

_on and on, the rain will say – how fragile we are, how fragile we are…"_

Torture to feel her near, and not be able to have her, torture to once again have to act the 'romantic villain', torture to have her destroy the Labyrinth, and finally the indescribable agony of those endless seconds when he lost all control of his life . . .

_Enough! _He decided, and stalked off to his bedchamber, not having anything better to do.

_She's been warned. _If she didn't listen to him, as she probably didn't, there really wasn't much he could do. It was painful enough trying to get her to understand and take him seriously. She was still a child – still seeing him as the all-powerful being her imagination had portrayed him as . . ._ maybe someday she'll find out more . . . _

Conjuring up a crystal with an impatient flick of his slender gloved hand, Jareth toyed with it for a while, wondering where she was right now, wondering if he would once again be able to see her . . . it was taking hold … As there was only one way to know for sure, he held up the now cloudy sphere of pale light that for the past few minutes had been rolling off the tips of his fingers, and looked into it's shining depths.

"… _every move you make, every step you take, I'll be watching you…"_

Sarah shook her head, startled out of her daydream. She should have been cleaning her room right now, but instead of dusting, vacuuming and sorting out all of her piled up school stuff, Jareth's gaze found her sitting by the window and staring off into space.

He caught the end of her fantasy by its colorful tail of emotions, but couldn't make out exactly what she had been dreaming about . . . it had something to do with . . . birds? The past? He couldn't grasp it firmly enough . . .

Sarah stretched and closed her eyes, remembering . . . she had been thinking of the first time she saw Jareth, when he flew into her window disguised as an owl . . . She smiled as she plucked the snowy-white feather from her old mirror . . . _so he was out and about again . . . how nice it must be to be able to change into a magnificent bird and fly off into the sky . . . _

Jareth snorted in disgust – _nice? Oh, yeah, sure – very nice . . . _he couldn't exactly choose his form of transportation . . . it was extremely tiring having to fly to her, when in the Underground he could just think of where he wanted to go, and he would be there in a mater of seconds . . . but it was the only way to get to her world, and tiring or not, he'd make the trip.

Hearing her parent's call her, Sarah tossed her tresses over her shoulder, and giving the mirror a soft smile hurried downstairs.

He watched her go past her door, but with a shock, he realized that he couldn't follow her beyond – the traitorous crystal had become foggy and clouded – hiding her from his intent gaze.


	25. PART II: Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

Wrathful, he conjured up another . . . and another . . . nothing. Still fog.

_But that's wrong – impossible! _ Feverishly he racked his mind for an explanation. _This shouldn't have happened!_ Things were supposed to be getting clearer – only yesterday he had been able to see her perfectly well, read her thoughts . . . heck – he had even woken her up, talking to her subconscious . . . he hadn't been able to do that in so long, and yesterday – just yesterday – he could . . . Why not now?

Unable to find any explanation, Jareth paced around the room, his long cloak swirling behind him and his mind agitated.

There was only one thing left to try – that was to try and call to her. He had been able to do it last night, though it wasn't easy . . . now, he wasn't sure it was possible . . . still; he'd have to try . . .

Stepping out onto the huge windowsill that offered a very scenic view, had he cared to look, Jareth reached out to her subconscious – the girl he remembered her to be . . .

True, she had changed. Changed so drastically that at first he was shocked almost speechless. But deep inside of her, so deep that none, save him, knew of it, the old Sarah still lived. The one who firmly believed in him, the one who dreamed, and was still, he hoped, connected to his world. It was to her that he reached out, condensing his thoughts into a narrow beam, trying to get through time, space, and emotion: into her consciousness.

On her way through the old forest were she usually walked Merlin, Sarah stumbled, suddenly dizzy. The huge, dark pine trees and the infinite colorful array of fallen leaves switched places with the never-ending grayness of the winter sky, whirling up from under her feet and dancing wildly in the cold breeze.

Sarah sat up, trying hard to understand how she got to the ground in the first place. Merlin was racing for home, blissfully free of both leash and collar, although a minute ago, she had been holding those tightly in her gloved hands . . . Realizing that she should probably run after the dog, she tried to stand up, but failed – finding herself on the ground once more. Puzzled and quite a bit scared, she sat here – vainly trying to understand.

"Sarah?" his voice cut through her dizziness like a ray of light parting the darkness before her eyes.

So that's what had happened. He'd been meddling with her life again, this time going a bit far and making her fall down . . . _probably underestimated his strength_ she thought sardonically.

**_Stop it, Jareth! You're making me dizzy – I can't even get up! _**She whispered faintly, wondering what he needed now.

"Where are you Sarah? I can't . . ." came to her faintly through the mist.

MIST? There wasn't any mist before, was there? Of course not – there wasn't supposed to be – it was daytime . . . But she was now surrounded by mist, swimming in it – she couldn't see anything around her: no trees, to sky, not even any ground . . . she seemed to be sitting on mist, for that matter . . . _if this is your doing . . ._ she thought wrathfully, _then _. . . what then?

_**Jareth? Jareth, What did you do? Jareth!**_

He definitely heard her well enough. It startled him – her voice and thoughts were so clear all of a sudden, the complete opposite of what they had been before . . . Now, could she hear him?

"Sarah? Sarah – what's happened? Where are you?"

_**As if you don't know! – I'm in this really weird foggy place – get me out, Jareth – I'm not a toy – I want to go back!** _Came her answer, loud and clear as a bell.

"Back?" he asked, not understanding at all "Back where?"

Sarah was provoked. Not only did he stick her in this strange, uncomfortable place - he was now making fun of her situation, playing games with her!

_**What, no crystal?** _She inquired, her voice ironic to the core. **_Or do you think I particularly like it here? Well, in case you care, I DON'T! Now GET ME OUT!_**

Caught off guard by the force of her chaotic emotions, Jareth sat back on his heels, completely puzzled. She was obviously distressed . . . But where was she? Reluctantly taking her suggestion, he balanced yet another crystal on the tip of his index finger, knowing that there was no way he could possibly talk to her now. He peered intently into it, and almost dropped it in surprise – there she was. Very upset, gray-green eyes absolutely furious, she sat in a sea of fog. It didn't take a lot of time to figure out that Dorothy wasn't in Kansas anymore.

"Dorothy" stood up defiantly, almost loosing her balance again – there wasn't even a horizon to set herself against! Horizons just didn't seem to belong in this strange place . . . _and neither do I! _She thought furiously, trying hard not to fall over again. In vain – she really didn't have a choice.

Some weird force of gravity was pulling her, dragging her through all the fog, down, down into the darkness of the unknown. Tiny dots of light swam before her eyes, barely illuminating a black-clad figure poised hungrily over a fog filled crystal. Then, all faded to unconsciousness.


	26. PART II: Chapter 5

**A/N: thanks so much to my reviewers!**

**SilverWing02: yeah, i know... i feel sorry for him too. But this is just the beggining! He'll be raking in the pity before we're done with him! I'm glad you're liking it so far! thank you for reviewing!**

**HiddenOperaAngel: thanks for your support! if there are any questions you have, feel free to ask! I worked to make this version of BB not as confusing:)**

**Legolinde: Yay! you're reading my fic! so - how do you like my little...ahem...changes to part one? I'm quite happy with them myself! thanks so much fro you attention to BB - please keep reading and reviewing!**

**Thanx!**

**love, **

**Nim**

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**Chapter V**

When Sarah opened her eyes, the first thing she registered was the unnaturally perfect whiteness above her head. Used to waking up under her cheerful, flame-colored canopy, she immediately knew that she wasn't in her own bed. Or, come to think of it – in her own room either; at least that's the way it seemed – judging from the high, vaulted ceiling, gigantic, gothic windows, and the over-all hugeness of the bedchamber she now found herself in.

_Not too bad_ she thought lazily . . . she vaguely remembered what had happened to her, but didn't even try to think about it as she pulled herself out of the huge, soft, inviting bed that she had completely no memory of. Half expecting something to pop out from the floor, or come through a hidden door in the wall, Sarah cautiously made her way across the stone floor. For some reason it wasn't as cold as she expected it to be – and she made her way to one of the beautiful windows quite comfortably.

Even before stretching her hand out to push the ancient shutters, knew what she was expecting to see. The Labyrinth – with all of its cunning twists and turns, seemingly solid walls and misguiding doors, clearly floated in her mind's eye. Absolutely certain that she would really see it once again, Sarah gave the window a slight push, a smile playing on her lips, her eyes expectant, sure. But as the heavy glass shutters swung slowly open, she bit back a cry of surprise and disappointment.

A soft lavender sky greeted her gaze, complete with thousands of brilliantly bright stars and a grand total of three pale, shimmering moons. All the reflected light clearly illuminated the ground below. Yes, it was a Labyrinth. A very complex one, too, from the looks of it, but this was as different from Jareth's world as night from day . . . or, actually – as evening from dawn.

Overgrown with strange bushes and grasses, it was obviously abandoned a long time ago. Some of the stones had crumbled and many walls were falling apart, but even so it was mostly intact, and still looked extremely difficult. She would hate to have to try and solve this one. Wondering what had happened to the owner of the place, Sarah turned away from the window, opening a large door next to her bed.

She was still dressed in her everyday jeans and a warm jacket over a turtleneck and sweater. The perfect outfit for a cold winter day in England seemed extremely bulky and uncomfortable, however, when she thought of herself walking through the ancient ruins surrounding her. As she had hoped, the door led to a large closet filled with dresses of all sorts and calibers. Choosing a pale green satin dress, she quickly changed.

Feeling much freer and lighter in her new attire, Sarah walked through another door, this time the one on the opposite side of the room. The long corridor she stepped into took her to an even larger room, which she soon determined to be the dining room. What else could it have been –the huge, beautifully set and lavishly decorated table was a dead give-away, along with the delicious smell of French toast floating in from the left wall.

As the table was set for one person, and her stomach was insisting that she was very hungry, Sarah seated herself and rang the little bell attached to her napkin holder.

Immediately, as if by magic, twelve fairies appeared, carrying a large breakfast plate between them. Setting it down in front of her, they quickly took off, leaving Sarah to enjoy her meal, which she didn't hesitate to do.

Having quickly finished her meal, which **did not,** and she was absolutely sure this time – making it a point to check everything over twice – contain any trace of peaches, she made her way back to her bedroom. Deciding that she needed a plan to explore her new surroundings – wandering aimlessly around would get her into to trouble for sure and fast – Sarah sat down on her bed. She was half expecting to see Jareth come in through a wall, or maybe through the window – as he liked to do so much, and was mildly surprised that he never did. _Forgotten me already, has he?_ She thought, amazed at her own distress at the idea. _But I am,_ _after all, sixteen years old can do very well without a babysitter . . ._ she thought defiantly, sticking out her chin as though he could see…_but you are, after all, in a strange, abandoned castle in the middle of a killer Labyrinth, in a world you've never even imagined before _her subconscious replied, knowing very well that it had a good point.

Feeling terribly alone and deserted, small and very lost, Sarah was close to tears. Her mind rebelled at the idea that she was pining for the presence of someone who was usually so unpleasant to her; that she felt betrayed by someone she barely knew and didn't trust at all. She couldn't understand her own emotions, only knew that they were there, and that she was now really alone to face them.

_Where was he?_ But then her thoughts took a different road – remembering that it was most likely Jareth by whose whim she was here, all alone in a familiarly unfamiliar world.

_Now, I can just sit here and feel sorry for myself until his Royal Highness the all-powerful Goblin King decides to let me out, or at least grace me with his presence . . ._ She thought vehemently, throwing a lacy cushion that decorated her bed all the way across the room_. He's probably much to immersed in his important business to deal with little old me right now, isn't he . . . I hope he gets what he deserves . . . Still, I hope he does come soon . . . even though it is all his fault . . . _

Tired of her dark thoughts, Sarah let her eyes wander around the room, taking it in, trying not to overlook anything . . . She caught herself on the thought that she was subconsciously looking for something, but for the longest time couldn't figure out exactly what was missing from the plain, yes, but seemingly complete furniture. Then it dawned on her – a mirror! There wasn't a mirror in the room! Why hadn't she noticed it before?

Checking every possible place where one could be concealed, Sarah wondered at her almost panicky state. She felt even more alone, somehow – as though the lack of a mirror completely cut her off from everything else. It's not like I'm Alice, she told herself, trying and failing utterly to calm herself down, I don't get around to other places by walking through mirrors, do I? Of course not! So why should it matter?

Because it DOES! She thought suddenly, and crumpled to the floor, as if that very thought had stolen all of her strength. It does, it matters a great deal . . . I don't exactly know how, but it does . . . As Sarah sat there, trying to put her finger on it, her eyes kept on roving around the room, knowing, just somehow KNOWING that it was absolutely impossible to live in this room, in this castle, in this world – without a mirror.

Angry at her own incapability to figure this puzzle out, Sarah jumped up and ran across the room to the door that she knew led into the dining room. Maybe there I'll be able to think more clearly . . . she thought hopefully, reaching for the door handle. As she yanked it open, a scream escaped her parted lips, all color draining from her already pale face, eyes widening in shock, as she saw another inmate of this ancient ruin.

A pale, green-eyed girl in a gorgeous light-green satin dress confronted her. Sarah watched the girl gasp, and then sigh – tilting her head with a shamefaced laugh. Watching herself blush, she rearranged her hair and did a few pirouettes to admire the beauty of her dress, which she had completely forgotten about until a few moments ago, and which did a fantastic job of underlining her dark hair and bringing out the color in her eyes.

There was her mirror. Now she was ready to face anyone, anytime, anyplace – as Sir Dyddimus had so eloquently put it. She was even ready to face the Goblin King, she thought with a giggle – at least now she looked presentable enough. "Not that you'll even notice, though – huh Jareth?" she whispered. A sigh followed her words, catching them and herding them along like clouds caught in a breeze. As she turned away, her words floated up to the mirror, disappearing through it's gleaming, polished surface.


	27. PART II: Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Hearing her voice, but not catching the exact words, Jareth sat up suddenly – aware that something wasn't exactly right. For one thing, he was sitting on hard, cold stone, and for another – there was nothing familiar about his surroundings. He knew his castle inside and out – knew every turn, every room, every corridor by sight, touch and direction; after all – it had been his home for . . . ever. He came so long ago, so many millions of centuries had passed there, that he couldn't really remember a time when he didn't know exactly where he was.

This, therefore, was a first, and very unsettling experience. Not only did he not know where he was, or how he got here, Jareth couldn't even tell where the sky went. He looked around, searching for the familiar pinkish – orange glow, but only after about a minute figured out that the huge, twinkling violet thing above his head must be it.

But, what had happened?

It didn't happen often that the Goblin King didn't understand something, and Jareth hated it. Bouncing to his feet with electric energy, he quickly put his back to the solid wall behind him, bewildered, not knowing in the least what to expect from all of this. Not losing his coolness for a minute however, he let his eyes take in the weird scenery. Stonewalls on two sides. The "sky" overhead. It seemed to be a very narrow corridor running straight for miles, if he could trust what he saw. Not seeing anything else, Jareth closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, remembering . . . it reminded him of something, this whole situation . . . Something that had happened not too long ago . . . He seemed to remember feeling these emotions before, though he himself had never experienced it . . . as though he had just been watching from the sidelines . . .

Of course. Sarah. It was her voice, after all, that had woken him. Sarah's first moments in his Labyrinth were almost identical to this. Took him long enough – this was a Labyrinth. He had only spent a few billion years creating one himself – it really shouldn't have taken him this long – he should have realized it from the start. Well. A labyrinth shouldn't be too bad, he thought – even though I have no idea why I'm here – I can at least get out soon enough . . . With a sigh, Jareth relaxed; tensed muscles unknotting, and leaned back against the wall behind him.

And fell none too gracefully onto his back – as the seemingly solid wall parted invitingly behind him, changing its shape. With a curse he rose, staring down the now once again ordinary and perfectly solid-looking wall. What was this nonsense? Walls only parted for guests – along with all the trap doors, dead ends, forests and gates – and all of them didn't dare do it without his specific order or wish! He certainly did not wish for it now, and if he were at home – someone would pay dearly for his ridiculous fall! If he were at home, the guardian goblin along with his whole family would be banished to the Bog of Eternal Stench in a snap! If he were at home . . .

Here Jareth mentally stumbled, looking around. The answer stared him in the face from every side. Every shrub, wall, brick, even that damned unnatural sky – all of them pointed out a very vital, key detail that his all-seeing mind had somehow managed to overlook: he was not at home. This wasn't his Labyrinth. He was the guest – and like it or not, he now had to face all of the tricks that he himself had used so many times to lure unwary travelers into uncomfortable situations. Like it? Definitely not! He'd already managed to fall into the simplest trap – shifting masonry – forgetting the all-time golden rule that everyone entering **his** Labyrinth had to live by – nothing is as it seems, so you can't take anything for granted! The rules hadn't changed – but the players have.

For the second time in his life, Jareth felt trapped and absolutely pinned down. Feeling his stone cage with every fiber of his body, Jareth practically seethed with rage. His attempt to walk through the walls, always going in one direction, and getting out that way had failed completely as he walked twice into solid stone that now absolutely refused to part for him. Frustrated, he threw himself at the wall – immediately remembering Sarah's fits of frustration and passionate rebellion . . . This was becoming to much for him – he wouldn't dare admit it openly, even to himself, but the bold fact was evident.

Finally, he'd come to the end of his rapidly fraying rope of temper – which was never too long under any circumstances, and was extremely short under these. He'd had enough. Whenever he got frustrated and nothing else would work, Jareth just flew away. She was absolutely right he acknowledged with a slight shadow of his old smile, it is nice to be able to just fly way. He was ready to feel the freedom, the hugeness of this world – ready to let the wind take him, be his guide in this strange sky. It beckoned him, waiting – all coolness and shadows, and calming openness. Almost feeling the swell of the night-wind, Jareth half-closed his eyes, waiting for that sudden lightness – for that upward thrust . . .

It never came. There were no wings at his command, no empty violet to bathe in. His eyes snapped open, immediately narrowing into dangerous slits. Who the hell was doing this to him? He had never been at the mercy of anyone before, save his own heart, and Sarah's dreams. This, he was sure – didn't belong to either category. Why was he here? What was he to do? Questions raced through his mind, and he now truly knew what Sarah felt when she was confused. He had watched her from the sidelines, silently laughing at her jumble of unfinished thoughts, but had now found out – quite painfully – that it was far from a pleasant experience. Bowing his proud head, the Goblin King stood in thought – a simple choice, yet impossibly difficult in its simplicity was staring hungrily at him – would he go left, or right?


	28. Part II: Chapter 7

Hello everyone!I am back from wherever it was i wandered off to, and am finally posting!

-Thank you to my reviewers - your reviews make me want to keep posting, keep writing, etc. i think what i'm trying to say is - please continue! curtsies> :)

-HiddenOperaAngel: Don't worry - Jareth has a VERY special place in my heart as well, and that is pecisely the reason i went through all of the painand toil of re-writing this story from its original not at all in favor of Jareth version. No i am not giving anything away, but i shall tell you again not to worry - we only get retribution for what we need it for. J is no exception. Niether is Sarah. she went through the hell of part 1 to learn something from being careless with her words and wishes and with others! I hope you enjoy the rest of it!

-AngelaScarlett: Thank you for reading and reviewing! I'm glad you are finding it to your taste so far!

-Pika: Thanks! the songs are by a brilliant singer-songwriter known as Sting. if you have not heard them - please do! If you can't find them naywhere e-mail me, i will send them to you! they are amazing, and how they fit into the whole Labyrinth theme is incredible! I am so glad you liked that aspect of my fic enought to mention it in your review! i was wondering what everyone thought of them! enjoy the rest!

-TheOnlyGuyOnHere: A bit of a presumptious alias, n'est pas? LOL. I apprecite your reviews very much - please keep reading on through the finishline! and yeah, i was waiting for you to admit to jelousy... :) but remember - i am not Sarah. some of your reviews seem to be adressed directly to her! lol. keep going, please!

-Here is the rest of it!

-Love, Nim

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Chapter VII 

_Knowing where I need to end up would help . . ._ Jareth mused, shaking his head. Like all others, like his own one in the Underground – this Labyrinth most likely had a center. Was he to go there? Maybe he should try finding a way out of the whole thing . . . though that's not what most people strive for when in a labyrinth . . . and besides, even if he did find his way out, where would that leave him? He would be alone in a totally strange world, with his back to this sorry rattrap . . . How was he ever to get home? Or to Sarah?

His breath caught sharply at that last thought and he automatically waved his elegant hand, expecting the cool heaviness of the usual crystal on his palm. Not feeling anything except for air, Jareth looked down, mis-matched eyes widening as he watched a bubble balance precociously on the tip of one finger and pop, becoming nothing more than thousands of tiny water droplets suspended in the surrounding air.

Cursing, he looked around, hearing the seemingly serene silence laughing at him. What was this? What kind of hell was this? Not being able to fly and walk with his usual graceful ease through the surrounding walls was bad enough, but not having his crystals? His only window into the world? Not even being able to see her!

"I'll get to the core of this!" Jareth hissed through his teeth – voice dangerous, almost deadly – "I'll get to that center, and then someone **will** pay."

"Now, left or right?" to hell with these damned choices – left would be good enough for him . . . walking briskly along the seemingly never-ending corridor, Jareth wondered at the builder of this particular Labyrinth – what kind of a King was he? He certainly did not keep his creation in very good condition – the stone walls were almost all falling apart, and the narrow path between them was so densely overgrown with strange shrubs and grasses that walking through it felt like wading through knee-deep water. For the first time, Jareth appreciated his leather boots for their direct use – as it turned out; they were pretty good leg protection – as well as a fashion statement, of course.

Quickly getting bored with the monotony of one-way travel, Jareth started looking for a different direction to take. . . If only there was one . . . he thought, spinning around and surveying the definitely solid walls on both sides. Not seeing a turn, Jareth continued on for another hundred feet or so, stopping and checking the walls several more times. But there had to be one! Labyrinths didn't go on infinitely in one direction – they turned and twisted their way for miles on end, making you believe that your almost there, and finally leaving you face to face with a discouraging dead end . . . that part was absolutely fine with him – he didn't mind a few dead ends . . . but first, one had to turn off the straight path!

"What kind of a Labyrinth is this? There aren't turns or openings or anything . . . it just goes on and on!"

_Jareth sighed, remembering his own amusement at her obvious fear and confusion in the _very beginning of her adventure . . . now, as ironic as it all was, he was in the exact some predicament – and finding himself equally perplexed, though he had always thought he was much wiser and more experienced in the field of Labyrinths.

"Where's a directional worm when you need one?" He wondered aloud, sarcasm almost tangibly piercing his words . . . After all, Sarah had gotten some help – so should he . . . mind, he wouldn't have needed it if he could still have his powers . . . but as they're gone . . . Turning to the inside wall to once more check it's solidness, he peered more closely at a speck of blue that had caught his eye several times before, and came face to face with a caterpillar.

Though he was a Goblin King, and these creatures did inhabit his native Underground, Jareth was completely unprepared for such a direct answer to his ironic phrase. The caterpillar, electrically blue and almost radiating coolness, blinked calmly back at him.

A few seconds was all it took Jareth to get his composure back, and taking his most intimidating stance, he looked down on the worm – almost daring it to breathe. The worm continued breathing in blissful ignorance of the threatening shadow above it. Lowering his wildly sweeping hair to almost an inch away from that chilly blueness, Jareth glared at it.

"How do I get through?" he snapped impatiently, "Bog of Eternal Stench" nearly written all over his proud, menacing face.

"I don't know – I'm just a worm!" it replied composedly – not showing the smallest sign of any discomfort under the Goblin King's piercing gaze – much less fear.

"What was that?" Jareth snarled – not at all amused, and rather taken aback. He was to be FEARED. All should answer when commanded to, and then fall to their knees – begging for mercy and cowering with fear. ALL!

"Don't really know nothing!" the worm replied coolly. "Come inside and have a nice cupa tea!"

Jareth felt the ground swing out from under his feet, and sank slowly towards it, realizing that the worm frankly didn't give a damn as to whether or not Jareth lost his temper, got an answer, found out which way to go, or disappeared entirely. That worm would always be there – no matter what happened, no matter who came and went; a fantasy-filled young girl looking for adventure, or a close to despairing Goblin King who's suddenly lost control of the world . . .

But Sarah had gotten an answer out of that discomposingly calm creature, hadn't she? The wrong answer, granted, but she did get it to help her! But how? It was absolutely futile to try and scare it, or somehow force it into talking sense. Though she couldn't have done so anyway – she didn't have what it takes to scare subject so much that they would rather swim in Bog water than face you . . .

Guessing that's not what was needed to get through this obstacle, the Goblin King swallowed his wounded pride and once again gazed intently at the offender. Two forever-calm eyes gazed back._ Didn't _**anything**_ rattle it? Guess not_ . . .

"I have to get through this Labyrinth," he started, almost patiently, trying desperately to keep the snappy edge out of his voice, forcing it to remain level. "Could you show me the way? I don't see any turns or openings."

"Oh, you ain't looking right! There's openings all over this place!" it stated quite cheerfully, blinking with perfect innocence.

Go on, go on – say it - Jareth thought fervently there's one right across from here, right? He caught himself nearly pleading, and shook himself mentally, telling that one pleading thought to get a grip and banishing it to the Bog. The Goblin King does NOT plead with anyone, EVER. He doesn't even ask, he commands! But that' not the way it works in this place, apparently . . .

Squashing his rebelling feelings as he wanted to squash this insolent caterpillar, would it do him any good, Jareth looked over at the one in question. The worm was silent and as ever, radiating pacifying waves, that interestingly enough had the opposite affect on Jareth.

"Well?" he prompted, fighting hard not to lose his temper again. Your line is . . .

"Where would they be?"

"Oh, there's one quite close by" responded the little creature "Would you like directions?"

Jareth nodded curtly, not trusting himself to say something encouraging right now.

"Well," the worm continued, "You go straight from here –"

_As though any other direction was possible_ _though _Jareth irritably, but kept listening.

" . . . and then you turn left at the big log. That's where the opening is!"

"Thank you" His tone was frigid.

"And be careful! Things are always what they seem in this place!" It stated, completely nonplussed.

Jareth stalked off, furious for wasting this much time and being taught a lesson by a caterpillar. Especially the lesson that he himself had cruelly taught to so many . . . straight and left . _. . there just better be an opening there . . . _So wrapped up in his thoughts, Jareth hadn't even noticed that the worm didn't say what he seemed to have, until the truth was staring him in the face.


	29. PART II: Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

"Things are always what they seem?" but that makes even less sense . . . Jareth couldn't understand it. He had distinctly heard the worm say "Things are always what they seem!" At the time, he hadn't even noticed it – automatically assuming that the worm meant to say "aren't" . . . That's what he was used to, that was one of the few rules he had lived by, he couldn't imagine it not working , having everything be exactly as it seemed . . . He hadn't given the phrase any thought until this very moment.

This very moment had arrived with an air of dramatic frustration and bewilderment. Grudgingly following the worm's simple directions Jareth had walked straight down the corridor and had stopped upon reaching a huge log. Not seeing any opening either left or right, he had almost gone back to get that stupid caterpillar, but realizing that it probably wouldn't care if he stepped on it, and not wanting to waste any time on invitations to tea, he leaned back against the wall in frustration.

Now he was standing opposite a large opening in the wall. This place was uncomfortably familiar to Jareth, from the trampled grass were he had started, to the opening. The same opening, in same wall, which had opened in the same exact way it had the first time – when he had leaned on it.

Taught quickly by his first experience, Jareth managed to keep his balance this time around, but it was still rather unnerving. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the wall only opened up when a large brick was pushed into place – in Jareth's case: unknowingly by his shoulder.

This is exactly what unnerved him, what he didn't like so much – everything was so very logical. No one but him had opened that wall – no magic, no one else's will. This was so unusual to the Goblin King that it was extremely unpleasant – he was used to magic. Used to the unexpectedness, bizarreness, suddenness, the smoke and mirrors that have been his life long companions. He felt comfortable surrounded by magic – it was in him, and usually around him all the time.

Except now. This world did contain magic; he could taste it in the air, feel it, but it wasn't the same sort of magic he was used to, and there wasn't nearly enough for his liking . . . for his comfort level, even . . . He found it hard to exist here – hard to breathe – the air was thinner . . . except that instead of lacking oxygen, it lacked the magic.

Guessing that standing here wouldn't get him any closer to the center, Jareth stepped gingerly through the arch, stooping slightly. Straightening up again, he found himself in yet another corridor, just as narrow as the first, but as far as he could see the two were perpendicular. As he stepped on a stone slab, barely visible amid the ever-present grasses, his quick ear caught a barely audible creak, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see the archway he just passed through close with a hungry snap. An amused look flitted over his aristocratic face. So they knew the rules of guest keeping in this place, did they? This he was used to – doors always closed behind the guests. Of course, they usually closed by his command, and not because some mechanism was set in motion by an overgrown button, but close they did, and there was nothing to be done about that.

Feeling the wind on his face, blowing through his light, feathery hair, Jareth looked up – noting that three huge, softly shimmering moons provided the added light he had noticed upon entering. He felt less enclosed here, somehow lighter . . . freer . . . Still wondering at the sudden change and what it could mean, Jareth started making his way through the sea of grass, down this new pathway. Glancing briefly to the side to try and orient himself, he froze, stopping dead in his tracks as his eyes took in the sudden change in scenery.

First there was the mist – walls of it, swirling in continuous motion, changing their shape and contours, but definitely solid he reflected, stretching his hand out and encountering a cool polished surface. Great – even mist is too much for me to tackle now he though gloomily, stepping back and taking a broader view of the semi-transparent mass of impenetrable air in front of him. Where he came from, air was only dense when Jareth felt the need to walk on it . . . it became perfectly permeable when he whished to get through . . . As he thought that over, the word semi-transparent caught his mind. Semi-transparent? **Semi? **

He gazed again, and a hungry look came over his face. There was the castle. Straight across from him, he could see its contours through the misty walls. It wasn't that far! He would just have to get through . . . breathing in sharply, Jareth stared in awe at the twisting and turning paths of this Labyrinth. His was a game compared to this. The paths crisscrossed and snaked their way forward, seeming to be caught in an endless struggle for survival.

Above, watching their bloody battle from its many-pronged bastions and towers rose the castle. Illuminated by pale, ghostly moonlight, it beckoned Jareth, calling to him. And suddenly, the Goblin King knew – THAT is where he needed to be. He absolutely HAD to get there, and soon. Why? He didn't quite know why, but his whole being yearned for it, crying out - Jareth knew that he would do ANYTHING, absolutely anything to get to it.

_"…tell me how much longer? How much longer?..." _

Scared by his own passion for something he couldn't explain, scared for the first time in his endless life, the Goblin King stood with his gloved palms against the misty wall, trying vainly to get through . . . somehow . . . in some way get closer to that shimmering castle . . . Why?

For no reason at all . . .


	30. PART II: Chapter 9

**Chapter IX **

After several hours of wandering aimlessly from hall to empty hall, Sarah was tired of dust, cobwebs and torch lit stone passages: she wondered whether she should give in to her temptation of exploring the world outside her castle. She wouldn't venture into that fearfully complicated Labyrinth – oh, no! – she would just explore the little plot of overgrown land that had once, it seemed, been the royal garden. _Should I?_ She thought, trying to think of why she should not. No reasons offered themselves up to her eager mind, nothing but the unquiet fears of her imagination – inspired, no doubt by all that moonlight, which, to tell the truth was quite creepy._ But Sarah Williams wasn't scared of anything_ she informed her reflection, gazing into yet another mirror. Besides, she had been cooped up for at least four hours, if her sense of time wasn't completely muddled by this new world. And there didn't seem to be a glorious sunrise on the program of tonight's entertainment either . . .So, why not?

Taking a deep breath, Sarah Williams stepped outside, brushing through the doorway of the iron gates – the only entrance she had discovered so far. She stepped into the evening world of rustlings and scents, stopping and waiting for the metallic clang of the shutting gates. When it never came, she turned in surprise to face the dark, yes, but still open passageway she had come out of. Weren't doors supposed to close behind you in a magic world, which undoubtedly this was? _And didn't Goblin Kings usually watch your every move?_ She wondered, still confused about her conflicting emotions about Jareth.

"What is _wrong_ with me?" she thought, making her way down an overgrown path, still feeling unsure, still a trespasser, a lost child . . . The grounds surrounding the castle were half-hidden in the soft darkness; it covered everything, seeming to protect it, enclosing it in shimmery, starry light. That weird light only increased the darkness however - making it more impenetrable, than if it was just dark. Sarah couldn't see anything, but sensed that all sorts of life in fact, surrounded her. There was something living, growing, and blooming nearby – just reach out your hand, and there it is – touching you with its leaves and stems. The dusky wind carried a strong scent of blooming roses – they, too were nearby, and a lot of them, judging from the intensity of their perfume.

Walking along the now totally overgrown path, Sarah immediately knew that if she were on a quest for roses, she was heading in the right direction. The air was unbearably hot, humid, and heavy with their odor. Slightly dizzy now, she plopped down in a patch of long grass to catch her faint breath. _A cold winter day in England makes quite a contrast to this tropical summer's night . . . _

Sarah disliked the summer. The only reason she had kind of put up with it was her freedom from school, but if it wasn't for that, summer, late spring and early fall would be on bottom rung of the season ladder in Sarah's mind. She preferred the other half of the year – when cold winds robbed the November trees of their crisp, wilting leaves, and they stood there – dark and bare – their naked branches shrouded in a misty cape, sometimes creaking and bending in the winter gales . . . when snow would set in –first a sprinkle, and then bigger and bigger flakes of it, thicker and thicker – until the whole world looked dappled, and then white . . . she loved looking into the sky when it snowed – just throwing back her hood, loosening her hair and letting the swirling pattern of the never – ceasing snow whirl her away, while it gently settled onto her hair and eyelashes . . . loved the rain, not the drizzle of October, but the heavy pouring rain of March, when it seemed that someone's sorrow, maybe even her own, was spilling out in a multitude of teardrops, pounding, pounding the earth, wanting to destroy it – but giving it life instead . . . Thunderstorms, when thunder snuck up unnoticed behind you and scared you half to death . . When lightning danced across the dark vengeful sky and the rain beat down in torrents . . . things fey and wild fascinated her, sending thrills or chills up her spine . . . or maybe a crazy mixture of both . . .

Not thrilled at all with a warm, sunny day, Sarah didn't particularly love a calm serene night, either . . . her time was the early dawn and the late dusk – the times of magic, even on that non-magical planet of hers. The time when the sun stars and moon all came together in one sky for a few brief hours . . . when clouds seemed almost alive, changing color and shape to match their ever-changing mood . . . Then she would watch the world around her for hours on end – taking in, soaking in every hue of the sky, every breath of wind, every rustle of her imagination . . .

Sarah sighed, eyes gleaming with her fantasy. It felt good to get carried away so strongly again – it hadn't happened in a while . . . Looking back towards the castle that had now become her home away from home, she realized that the reason it was so dark was it's huge shadow – enclosing everything on this side of it, her included. The moons were all on the other side of the castle – illuminating it from that side, and leaving the rest to slumber, wake, live, grow, and wander in the shimmery darkness. Starting up, Sarah headed in the direction of the lighted side. Something drew her there, calling her, almost pulling her along – she stifled the impulse to run towards it. _Maybe the rose garden is on that side_ she murmured, as she waded her way through the ever-thickening sea of grass before her. Hurrying along, she watched the light grow nearer and nearer . . . _Almost out of the shadow . . . Almost . . . _

And almost blinded by the suddenly bright moonlight. Blinking against that invasive light she stepped forward, and stumbled, falling down as her foot failed to find solid, grassy ground. _There goes Alice down that rabbit hole . . . _was the thought that stayed with her when she hit the soft ground and stood gingerly up. Panting was out of the question – she'd have to do without air. _It seems I've found my rose garden . . . _Sarah liked roses. Really. Liked their beauty, their sweet smell . . .but everything in moderation! She looked around, trying very hard to keep breathing and finding that it was dangerously difficult. The rose bushes surrounding her were huge – almost as tall as she was, and not only did they close in on her from all sides, she couldn't even tell how she had gotten into this airless bower, this perfumed graveyard.

_"…Sweet desert rose… This memory of hidden hearts and souls  
This desert flower… This rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of love…" _

She sank to her knees, scratched and dizzy from her attempts to somehow get through the thorny scented wall surrounding her, she wanted to keep fighting, keep looking for a way out, but the roses waved gently above her head and sang in the night breeze that she couldn't feel, pouring their sweet scent onto her slowly dropping head. _How nice it would be to lay down . . . to stay here forever, staring up into that beautiful sky . . . no troubles . . . no worries . . .no castle . . . no Goblin Kings . . .stay . . ._ echoed and reechoed in her head.

But somewhere on the very edge of her conscience Sarah, about to dive in, stopped suddenly at that last thought. That's not what she wanted! She wasn't sure of it before, but now she definitely was! Slowly her will power awoke, and she started to fight back. _I don't want to stay here! Want to get up! Out!_ She almost started to struggle. Almost. But that sweet rose perfume was coming down on her – wave after suffocating wave . . . sweet? It was sweet . . . too sweet . . . overly sweet . . . overripe . . . almost sour . . .

Once more (_how many times now? _she thought, attempting to smile despite the cold, sticky fear) everything started fading, sliding out of focus, dancing around her . . . as she slid down, unseeing eyes wide, into the darkness reaching hungrily up to get her, the last breath escaping her lips carried a name with it . . . His name . . .

" . . . Jareth . . .?"


	31. PART II: Chapter 10

**Chapter X **

Jareth turned slowly away from the beckoning castle. What was the use of staring at it, when there was obviously no way he could get there? No, he'd have to make his way through the Labyrinth, just like Sarah had . . . why though? She had to solve the Labyrinth to face her fears, assert herself, develop her logic and creativity . . . he knew – for he was the one to make it all happen. Her belief in him gave Jareth the power to twist her dreams and make them part of his Labyrinth. He was only a reflection of her inner desire for a 'romantic villain'– the manifestation of her wild, uncontainable imagination. Nothing more.

How was, how could his situation be at all similar to that? Jareth didn't know this either. He walked slowly along, fingertips brushing the mist-wall on his right. After a few minutes, when he had passed the castle and was directly across from the overgrown garden on the left side of it, he stopped, something inside him commanding his eyes to look out again. At first, he saw only the dark, shimmery night. It covered everything he could possibly even see from such a distance – hiding the plants and landforms from even his piercing gaze. Soon however he saw, or thought he saw, a pale spot amid all of the darkness. It was moving in the direction of the garden. Straining to see it clearer, Jareth stood with bated breath, tense and unmoving as a statue. The spot slowed down, almost stopped as it reached the patch of open moonlight, and then it shrunk, spreading out like a tiny whitish-green puddle on the ground. It wasn't moving.

"Sarah?" immediately he knew that something had happened. Was Sarah in this world as well? In the Labyrinth with him? No – she couldn't be! This was for him to solve . . . only for him . . . And she was at the center. But did she know about this? _Probably not_ decided Jareth. _She's to much of a child to understand how drastic the situation is . . ._ Wishing he could be so naïve, Jareth narrowed his eyes, trying to see that pale puddle. He could barely see, or maybe feel it there, in the darkness. "Sarah?" he whispered, his voice hopeful and afraid at the same time. _Was it Sarah? Then why wasn't she moving? _

Instinctively feeling that something was wrong he wanted to go to her, then and there – help her, save her. Jareth started forward, but stopped again – remembering that he was entrapped, enclosed within these misty walls. But he _had _to get through! Had to get to her – walls or no walls!

Now pacing along these same accursed walls that had told him "see but do not touch" with the ferocity of a wild beast, Jareth turned sharply on his heels starting the other way after every few meters._ How to get through? How to get through? How . . .? _

Turning suddenly he faced that damned wall that dared to get between them. His head was raised, mismatched eyes flashed, wild hair blew softly back, and every muscle was tense. TOO BAD that the wall was solid. TOO BAD! To hell with it! To hell with disgrace, to hell with Kingly pride – to hell with solid walls. TO HELL with every obstacle in his way! He WILL get through. To her. NOW.

He started forward, almost in slow motion. Nearer, nearer came the mist . . . solid, impenetrable . . . How would he ever get through? He shut that thought away – far away in a dark oubliette – to forget about. It didn't really matter how he got through. Just as long as he did. But it would not be suppressed. Voices were whispering in his ear; goblin voices, daunting and full of evil.

"It's very solid you know . . ." one hissed, "You know it is!" "You'll never get through to her – never!" another one said. They were all around him now, poisoning his mind with their death- words. All around he heard taunts and assurances of his own failure. "What if you could get through? Do you think you could possibly save her? She doesn't want you, remember? Doesn't give a damn about you or your kingdom!"

For one moment, Jareth was in doubt – listening. But only for one. _How dare they? How dare they tell me anything? I am the King of the Goblins – they WILL NOT speak unless spoken to!_ And with that, the King was back on his throne. He shook his head, sending a halo of pale blond hair, almost feathers, into the air – enraged at how much time he had wasted on listening to all of this. What kind of shameless lies were they telling him? He refused to be the prisoner of doubt for even a second – let others spend their entire life doubting – he was sure of himself. He will get through and will be in time. And will help her. There was no choice in the matter – he simply had to.

He touched the wall again – solid. Turning even paler, he turned away. Maybe it was better to go through the Labyrinth – maybe it would be faster that way. If it was a question of time, he didn't know – he was never much concerned with it, as there always seemed to be more than enough for everything. His heart told him to hurry, and the straight path was usually the shortest . . . but not when there were walls in your way . . . Wearily Jareth made a few steps down the corridor.

Suddenly, with a new gust of fresh night wind he heard her voice. It was only a whisper, but he heard it well – she was calling to him. What had to have happened for her to remember him? To call him? What kind of peril was she in? It had to be something serious. Maybe even deadly. He had to be with her.

Thinking only of Sarah, Jareth rushed to her – towards the voice. Forgetting the solidity of the wall, forgetting the impossibility of the Labyrinth, forgetting everything but her, Jareth tore through the mist – as though it wasn't even there. Across the Labyrinth before him: no rules, no walls, no dead ends existed for the Goblin King now. Only Sarah. Only she lived in his heart, mind, and soul – within him.

Only now was he aware – he was flying, free once more. Underneath his broad white, shimmering wings sped the twisting and turning Labyrinth – angrily silent as it watched its escaping prey. Straight like a shining arrow he flew towards the Castle – not needing anything to guide him but his wildly beating heart. Now, where was she? Where was that illusive whiteness? There – there right ahead . . . now somewhere below him . . . beneath his wings, as though encircled by them . . . beloved.


	32. PART II: Chapter 11

**Chapter XI **

Now, as wonderful as freedom was, Jareth had to be on solid ground. Had to. Without her, freedom and sky and pale darkness and magic and the Underground and the Castle beyond the Goblin City – all of it didn't matter. Not without her. On his feet once more, Jareth flung back his cape, impatience resounding through his every movement as, brushing pale hair out of his worried eyes, he looked around – trying to determine where he was in relation to Sarah.

Not seeing anything that would give him a clue, Jareth sighed. For about the hundredth time now he realized that his sight, magic, and power were useless to him here. Only his heart. Only it could lead him in the right direction, be his guide, his illusive yet incredibly strong string – bringing him to the one whom he sought. He closed his eyes, listening to its voice. Gently but insistently it told him that Sarah had always loved roses. He turned right, trying to figure out what that could mean when he was greeted by their perfume.

The air, sweet smelling and heavy, carried the scent of roses with it, swirling through it in tangible waves. Relieved, Jareth made off in the direction of the smell, through the old ruins, through the grass, through the now increasing rosebushes. She was somewhere nearby . . . he could feel her somewhere close – faintly though . . . ever so faintly . . . His heart pushed him forward, on through the multitude, the maze of roses of all sorts of colors, smells and calibers, on – to the very center.

Stooping, Jareth entered a large bower. Walls of roses on all sides, he stood in the center, unmoving. Enclosed in the flowers, lying on the soft short grass was Sarah. Pale green dress shining almost white in the night, a rose clasped in her outstretched hand, her dark hair surrounding her head, she lay as though in a dream. He stood there, unable to move, to breathe. There she was – right there – so close – he had come to her at last. He hadn't seen her so close, been so near to her – in years. He had managed to forget how breathtakingly beautiful she really was. How perfectly lovely . . . Now, without her conflicting emotions, doubt and distrust – nothing prevented him from admiring her, letting himself soak in her beauty, her sunshine . . . finally letting his parched, broken heart drink it's fill . . .

_"…I dream of rain…I dream of gardens in the desert sand  
I wake in vain… I dream of love as time runs through my hand…" _

But what was this? She wasn't breathing! He leaned in close – trying to discern some sound, some faint movement of air, beating of heart. Weak and dizzy from the nearness of her Jareth listened in vain – he couldn't catch even the slightest sound, wisp of air, of dreams. She _was_ alive – that he knew. If that had not been the case – he, though immortal, would surely have died. There was no way he could live without her – that was decidedly true.

_"…on and on the rain will say – how fragile we are, how fragile we are…" _

He'd have to get her out of this stifling bower – A mortal couldn't possibly breathe in here! But . . . Jareth couldn't trust himself to pick her up, take her into his arms, as he had longed to do ever since . . . But time pressed, for the first time ever, and soon – soon she wouldn't be able to live in this scented coffin . . . Gently, ever so gently, as though she was a fragile porcelain doll, Jareth picked her up in his arms and carried her out.

He placed her on the grass right outside the garden, a few yards away from the Castle gates. He could easily carry her into the castle… easily navigate the many stairways and doors and found her room … her bed … her . . .

What were these thoughts? Why did he suddenly feel the need to take her, to control, to dominate her? Why?

_No_. Jareth shook his head shooing away those thoughts – she needed air, not the stifling fear that would come to her if she found him in her room, near her bed. _She needs air . . .air and room, and not a Fae's undying heart . . . _But the Goblin King's thoughts were interrupted as he watched Sarah sigh and start breathing again, watched the color return to her pale cheeks, listened to her heartbeat . . . and sat there, wishing, dreaming . .

_Planning and plotting … despite his heart's protest. _

Once more shaking his head, he stood gracefully up and started pacing around her. _How could this happen? Why are we both here, in one world, when neither one brought the other?_ Jareth didn't understand it. _Was_ he actually being offered a second chance? But he was a Fae . . .and she – wasn't she a human being? He did not have any power over her.

_. . . not yet . . . – _

…his words, wishes and wants, even his needs couldn't have brought her to him . . . yet here she was. Did that mean . . . could it possibly mean that she wanted him? To be with him? His will had no power over hers…

_. . . not yet . . . – _

…unless . . . unless she once again believed in him. Believed as daringly as she once did – giving him power over her dreams, her subconscious.

_And that would mean that he could claim,- take,- rule… _

No. That couldn't be. That could never be. This was Sarah – she had proven to both him and herself that he and his whole kingdom meant nothing to her. The entire world, the stars, moon, magic, dreams and his heart among the lot that he flung down at her feet meant no more to her than a forgotten junk pile. "It's all Junk!" she had said then, sending once dear objects flying. And when he had put his love into that small hand - insisting, through Agnes, that this surely wasn't junk, she cried out in true passion "_YES IT IS!"_ and had sent it shattering against his mirror.

No. She couldn't have just changed like that. She was unlike any of the others who had entered his Labyrinth. They, all of them, wanted to be with him, but she was the exception. The one and only exception. The one his heart cried out for, knowing very well how little it meant to her. This, as stated before, was Sarah.

_But, despite the logic, another part of him awoke . . . and whispered a different tale. With a different ending. _

Sarah shifted uneasily, sighing as her dream waned, retreating, fleeing in a multitude of illusive shadows. Jareth stepped back, forced to retreat like that dream, though he knew not why. Maybe because he was only part of her dream . . . Suddenly she sat up, eyes wide. She wanted to jump up and run, giving herself no account as to why, but as she made an attempt to tear herself away from the ground she fell immediately back down, unimaginably dizzy. Jareth lunged forward, giving everything in the world to keep her from getting hurt. He wanted to catch her, keep her out of the hungry reach of that cold, hard, merciless ground….

_Keep her for himself._

But his actions were cut short as his straining fingers met a cool polished surface, and mist swam before his very eyes, nearly hiding her figure – a wall between them.

_Damn._

****


	33. PART II: Chapter 12

**Chapter XII **

Sarah got up again, slowly and carefully – not wanting to fall once more. She could breathe again. Her whole body seemed to be light, almost floating up toward the stars that spread out above her like a million dancing fireflies. She felt peaceful, just sitting there, looking up and not worrying about anything. Bit by bit her memory was returning to her.

The garden, the roses, the bower . . . the overpowering perfume . . . the dizziness . . . _How did I get out? How did I ever get out of that deathtrap?_ Her mind found no logical explanation. But then, Sarah wasn't sure that there even was one . . . She stood up and tottered forward, back toward the castle – back to safety. _I had enough roses to last me a lifetime . . . just let me get inside, I'll never even look at a rose again, much less smell one . . . _Sarah thought vehemently.

She walked slowly, still weak and not completely herself, along the wall of mist on her left. Then it registered. _Mist? Again? What is it this time? Another world? Was she leaving this one behind? _

But no, no . . . this was just a weird misty wall, nothing more . . . or was it? Peering through, Sarah caught a brief glimpse of odd twists and turns – and understood. This was the inside wall of her Labyrinth. Strange that she hadn't seen it before . . . was it right here all along? Her mind was in utter confusion – she was too tired and weak for pondering or trying to understand anything. Closing her eyes she took a deep breath – rejoicing once again at the ability - . . . and sighed with relief. This wasn't for her. This labyrinth was for someone else to solve – not her. She had already gotten through hers . . . _and destroyed it . . . _Wondering if she had heard that last phrase or thought it, Sarah froze on the spot, feeling a strange prickling on the back of her neck.

She turned around – not too fast for fear of falling, cocked her head to the side in a typical Sarah gesture and surveyed the milky white wall in front of her. _Something's different . . . _Dimly she thought she could see a ghostly dark silhouette. It kind of looked like . . .Did it? Yes! Yes it did look like him. Though more than a year had passed she had not forgotten Jareth's features. She could never understand why, but somehow she knew she would never be able to forget them, however hard she tried. . Never . . . for some strange reason which she could not explain away, this though and feeling were comforting. But now, she could see him clearer . . . that same silhouette . . . Even the eyes – though she couldn't see clearly enough to tell . . . could it be?

"Jareth?" she whispered, moving closer and reaching out her hand. Her words hung in the silence, unheard, unanswered. But despite that, she still moved forward, still reached out. Sarah didn't know why, didn't know what was pushing her, or maybe pulling, towards that swirly wall of fog . . . Of dreams . . . She reached forward, out, farther and farther, nearer and nearer to it, wanting him to be there, to be real, wanting to see his smirk, hear his taunting voice, just wishing . . . to feel him, his coldness and poise and menacing power…for no reason at all . . .

As though he was her strange reflection and not the proud Goblin King, Jareth stretched his hand out as well. As they reached forward, both almost feeling the warmth that precedes contact, the mixing of black and white, of mortal and fae, of fear and hope, like the mixing of fire and ice, love and hate, dream and reality that takes our breath away and leaves us weak and wide-eyed was inevitable. Sarah knew it, knew it with the newly awakened and not yet familiar insight of a woman. A moment longer, and she could loose herself in the mist, in his voice, in his eyes . . . a moment longer, and there would be no need for fear, pride . . . a moment longer and . . . she would loose control. Completely.

She snatched her hand away, even before she had made up her mind to do so. It was an instinctive reflex, something that was akin to the darkness of fainting when the mind is no longer in control, and the body understands that in order to save itself it has to shut down, overwhelmed by emotion.

Immediately regretting her action she almost drowned in the enormity of what she had just thrown away, just rejected. With her heart and hand she reached again, now eagerly, wanting above all else for it not to be too late. But her fingers only encountered a cool, polished surface. It sent a shock through her – reaching out, expecting and now wanting something that was there, that was possible only a few minutes ago, expecting contact, warmth, heartbeat, life, anything but the dead coldness she now found.

For a few seconds Sarah stood there, shivering, staring up into those sad, sad, haunting eyes she could never forget. She felt even more lost – seeing him, so close, but not feeling his presence. She had always dreaded it – he usually overpowered her will with his, inundated her whole being with his power . . . and now, nothing. Not even the faintest hint of it. Was he real at all? This was too much like a mirage . . . Like a twisted, tinted reflection – it couldn't be Jareth!

_"…there's such a sad love, deep in your eyes – a kind of pale jewel, opened and closed _

_within your eyes…" _

The Goblin King wouldn't just stand there, staring down at her, seemingly speechless! He would say something strange or sarcastic, hit her with one of his favorite paradoxes, smirk and toss his head . . . At least blink! His eyes should be haughty and cold, laughing at her fear and unsureness, at her confusion . . .laughing, like he had always done . . . not staring down into hers with a sadness so great that she almost wanted to cry just thinking about it . . . With a sigh she turned away. _A mirage after all . . . yet how real! _


	34. PART II: Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII **

Jareth, too, was shocked and lost.

How could she? How could she just turn away like that? She had seen him! She had looked into his eyes and - he was sure – Sarah had seen that he was now powerless to resist her. Powerless.

_"…as the world falls down…" _

He had been powerless to comfort her when she had stood alone, all alone, lost and cold and very lonely . . . Powerless to reach out and answer to her tentative touch . . . Powerless to take her hand and turn her back…

_…To take her…to bring her into his embrace by the string of emotions connecting them, like a bridge to her mind… her mind that was usually so vulnerable, so open, so inviting… _

. . . to even call out to her. Powerless. Again.

Powerless even to remain on his feet, Jareth sank to the ground, his cape crumpling beneath him. Dropping his head onto his gloved hands, he sat there – exhausted, broken, trying to keep back the unwelcome emotions. Vaguely he caught himself wondering if the pain would be any less had he curled up on the grass like Sarah curled up on her bed when she was grieved or in pain. But the thought of Sarah did not ease the torturous feeling that there was a huge hole somewhere on the left side of his chest, and that it was slowly growing wider and emptier.

Trying to throw these thoughts aside, away, out of hurting distance, Jareth leaned back onto his hands, lifting his face and letting the moonbeams bathe it in delicate light, cooling and soothing as the night wind. Feeling something prick the side of his right hand, he drew it back, discovering a pale rose.

It was elegantly shaped and had not yet opened. Pale violet in color, it was darker at the tips and almost a bluish color at the center. It smelled sweet, seemed so small and beautiful and fragile, and yet already it was armed with thorns. Long ones, _and sharp, too_ Jareth reflected, remembering that they had somehow managed to pierce leather.

Carefully avoiding the spear-like thorns, he picked up the flower hiding it in the dark folds of his cape. He felt the need to keep it for some reason, hoping against all hope and wishing against all logic that even Sarah could come up with, that maybe, just maybe, second chances were indeed a possibility.


	35. PART III: Chapter 1

Hello Everyone who's still with me!

I appreciate your reviews and support, thank you much!

Here is the ending - Part III, hope you like it!

Your reviews (by chapter or on the whole thing) are very welcome...

And as I've run out of things to say,Ishall procced to the story itself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter I 

He had been wrong, of course. Completely and totally wrong. Jareth saw this now. And yet, he could have sworn then that she was almost his. Hell, he could swear it now: she WAS almost his. If it hadn't been for that confounded wall of ice-cold and completely solid mist, he wouldn't have to be standing here now: unable to pull out the rose's thorns that seemed to grow into him, and bitterly reflecting on his experience which had suddenly come back to him in a flash of recognition.

…They say your life passes before your eyes at deaths door…

She was reaching out to him, her will was there, her mind so open that anyone with the mental capacity of a carrot could get in; much less the King of the Goblins and the Ruler of the infamous Labyrinth could get in. A few moments of tenderness, of care – and his whole plan was thwarted.

468 years of planning, to be exact…

468 long years of work and research interspersed with complete agony:

Down the drain.

If all of his calculations were even close to being right, all Jareth had to do in order to regain his former power of the "before Sarah" days was to solve her Labyrinth, as she had conquered his.

It is the rules…

Problem #1 arose almost immediately: she didn't appear to have one. But, here the research kicked in. The royal library looked like battleground after the goblin war when the very tired and extremely sleep-deprived Jareth, sitting amid piles and piles of endless volumes established the ultimate truth: Everyone, human and fae alike, has their own inner labyrinth, somewhere deep inside, in their heart of hearts. Most live in complete oblivion, of course – unaware that inside them is anything more than some strange, hollow pulsing sound that doctors listen to in times of trouble. There was problem #2, staring him in the face with a malicious grin.

Lets see how you deal with _this_ little slice…

Speaking of slicing. Jareth winced as his hand suddenly withered, sprouting thorns… it burned and bled, and to his horror the blood was becoming greener and more opaque. Quickly focusing on his reflections, he closed his eyes, to avoid seeing the rest.

…If you can't see it, its not there, right? Right…

It would have taken Sarah more than twice her lifetime to realize and visualize her own maze to the extent that anything three-dimensional could fit inside it, to bring forth this inner world of hers from the deep of her consciousness. A life time…and for him that would mean ages and ages as a "defeated." A wraith, a shadow, incapable of any complete action for the rest of eternity. A position no fae, let alone the former King, wanted to find himself in.

The only way, then, was to get in to it without her being aware of such a place…get in, and conquer... Quickly and easily… It would be a merciful kill, really – he had thought at the time. She wouldn't know what hit her – she would probably forget everything as the power to connect to and rule his world, a power she was not yet aware of, would shatter: reversing its course and allowing him to rule hers. And Jareth had found a way. A dangerous way. He had to project himself into the 6th dimension: the realm of fantasy.

Everything created in the imagination must exist somewhere. It could exist there, but was usually only accessible to its creator. The danger Jareth had faced, though, was far from imaginary. He needed to use the connection formed between them to play on her emotion, allowing him to overstep that line of consciousness, where Sara's logical thinking ended and her fantasy world began. Theoretically, he could do this. Theoretically, anything was possible. In fact, he had put this into action years before, a few aboveground days after she left his labyrinth, his heart of hearts, in crumbling ruins.

His emotions getting the better of him served a good purpose at the time, even though he did not realize it then. Playing his part, her romantic villain, he had begun to reforge their connection through Toby, and through the power and magic of his voice. Begun almost unconsciously, it deepened, and then drew his shadow, fae side to plotting and, finally, to action. Too bad the ground fell out form underneath his feet at the last moment. But calculations, it seemed could not encompass all of the mysteries of the human heart.

The last (and only) two fae's that had attempted to use such a connection to rule their intended victims, had ended up trapped in some illusive world were they could exist merely as shadows of clouds and raindrops. Theoretically. And that was not a fate Jareth would have picked for himself, as romantic and poetic as it all was.

Too bad... It would probably hurt less, maybe even not at all… purpleness swam before his eyes, condensing around his head in a halo… he never liked that color.

But, deciding that the end result would be well worth the risk, the Goblin King plunged ahead, crossing line by line the realms of Sarah's unconsciousness, mixing elements of himself into her, so that he would be able to exist in her 6th dimension. The first three borders were an easy win, as she was very definitely not on guard at the time, sure that she would never see him again after the episode with the mirror, when he had rushed to save his only link to survival and revitalization, forcing himself to live in the role() of the romantic villain once more…

God, how he detested that role – it was the worst one to be in…

This was where the danger lay. To loose the ultimate goal of a particular "role," be it seduction, power or both, was the equivalent of a loss. Which meant allowing the other to intrude into some corner of his mind whenever he or she chose. Needless to say, it hadn't happened often; he was, after all, not a King for nothing.

But Sarah's image of a romantic villain was especially dangerous in its form and especially alluring in its danger – it was awfully close in both the physical and the mental state to the form he usually took, i.e. when he was not role-playing. It was so comfortable to him that oftentimes it was hard even for him to tell which feelings were his and which were his role's…Thus, tricked by his own image, he let her win, completely convinced that he was in love with her. It felt so real, it was almost an addiction – like his owl alter ego – it was another form to be in, another thing to do in the myriad of boring mindless years of his eternal life.

At times, this need to be her romantic villain would be so powerful, so strong, that his emotions that were not really his took over and he was in agony at having lost her. At other times, the cold logic would interlude and remember the set goal – power and seduction. Or, rather – power through seduction. A favorite dish. The trouble was that every time Jareth got close to achieving step#1 of this goal, he would give in to her image and live by her rules, loving her hopelessly and ardently. And vice versa.

And then again. And again. Until he could no longer bear it.

That was how she won, and he had not forgotten it. He needed this, needed to be cold and logical and cruel, because by ruling her, he would finally be content: power, social status, revenge and the choice of alter egos would be his forever.

* * *

()It must be noted, that when fae's assume "roles" or images that have been created over centuries by the population of earth, they enter it only in part, keeping part of themselves out. It is always the choice of either taking the plunge and relying on mental ties or playing it safe and staying out of the game. Jareth was a definite risk taker. He knew he could stay afloat in the current of images and emotions that his objects of interest inundated him with. He would take the form they chose for him and live the role – at the time believing everything he said and felt, regardless of whether his actual self agreed, disagreed, or cared. 


	36. PART III: Chapter 2

**Chapter II **

So, there he was, about to step through the 4th dimension (time) when things started going wrong. First he noticed a weakening of power from his side, and then slowly, but with increasing momentum a strengthening of such coming from hers. Then, the emotion, and then the broken pieces of castle starting to randomly come off of their places.

And then it clicked.

Jareth had heard of time turning back before, but to experience it was another thing. Panic rose up in him, and he felt powerless to do anything about it, as he had not felt in a long long time.

Now he could see that time had reversed its course a while before, almost imperceptibly, and had been going backwards ever since, gathering speed. It was triggered by Sarah's attempted suicide – the breaking of the mirror, or, perhaps, the selflessness of his role's action. It made sense now, but he could not have foreseen this. And that selflessness of his was a very uncharacteristic thing for a fae, too. He should've noticed, but he failed to.

In any case, when he finally did, he felt immediate apprehension at the thought.

Backwards was not a good way to move. When time behaved oddly, it could easily get stuck, as a broken record would, and then his position would be even less enviable, if that was even possible. If she came back… he did not even want to think of that. Reaching through and warning her was indeed his only choice, then, if she could help it, perhaps his warning would prevent some catastrophe that was hurtling his way. But, through the 4th dimension he went, strangely enough, and so did Sarah, as he was in mind-touch with her then. The 5th either didn't exist or had sped by them so quickly that they hadn't noticed, because all of a sudden, he was at his destination.

The 6th.

But there was a definite catch.

He was not only stuck in the center of Sarah's unfathomably difficult labyrinth, he had somehow been rendered completely powerless. He had not predicted that such a thing would happen – his plan was to just step to the center, say – "I rule you, Sarah" or some such phrase that needed to be said and head on back, maybe with a couple of detours along the way, as he picked up his newfound friend. But, that was not the way it was going to work, obviously. He had not only been stripped of his magic, he had bee deprived of his memory of the past few decades: completely clueless about his plan as he faced an unknown and unfriendly environment. The goal was non-existent to the Jareth in the Labyrinth of Sarah: there was no goal. Only at the sight of the castle did it swoop down upon him in the form of unknown longing and intuition, in the form of half-formed thoughts that had tried to take over his role-played self…

And the worst cut of all: he was once again ruled by her image of a romantic villain. Not even realizing it, he was role-playing, and once again in love. Her world, apparently, could not contain him in any other form than the one she created for him… too bad he hadn't been able to foresee this.

The sense that he needed to protect her life as the only link to his lost power meshed with his protective force of love, acted out, and, of course, completely believed in at the time, until he couldn't tell; even now looking back, which one it was that moved him to his folly…probably a borderline between the two. And when, at certain times his real self sporadically broke through it half-formed a new plan – inspired by her persons presence in her own maze: to attain victory through her: ruling her mind, he would rule her person, and in doing that, he would rule her completely, thus accomplishing goal.

But there was one thing, one force, one element he had not taken into account. He simply had not known, stuck between evil plotting, endless boredom, rise to power and role playing, that a heart is also a serious force to be reckoned with. He could rule both mind and body, but did he rule her heart? Without that, there would be no surrender and no winning and no ruling. In a sense, he did…Sarah loved the part of him she had created for herself… it was her weakness… And therefore his asset… but in it lay her greatest strength… and his greatest loss… that he saw. Now.

Now, when all that remained of his physical self was slowly and painfully fading, wilting, turning green and spiky…When the halo around his head was solidifying, till he could hardly see anything…When he was looking at the shadowy twilight of the half-forgotten realm of Sarah's labyrinth through a mist of purple.

Why had he not seen it then? Why? But, it wouldn't have changed anything, even if he had known then. She was too strong, her mental images projected onto his being were much to powerful for him to go against them and not be kicked out of her labyrinth. Those walls of solid mist were not just there for nothing… they were the walls of her labyrinth, her heart's walls... they only let through those images and actions that came from the heart. His or hers? He did not know. Well, they showed her clearly enough. But she did not seem to take him for a real entity, so perhaps it was her heart.

Why did roses absolutely have to have thorns?

Jareth's great mistake, one he could not have not made, was to put all of himself into the fantasy realm. With the eyes of her heart, she could only discern the part of him that loved her, the romantic villain. When it took control, he was able to reach her; when it was suppressed by the shadow reality he was merely a shadow to her heart. For, realities find no place in the Kingdom of Fantasy.

Here there were only roses, roses and pain

_"…I dream of rain, I lift my gaze to empty skies above…  
I close my eyes  
This rare perfume is the sweet intoxication of her love _

Had he actually sang this to her? It was coming back to haunt him now. In a sense, he could say he fashioned all of this. No, they both did. They had both dreamt this up.

_I dream of rain… I dream of gardens in the desert sand  
I wake in pain  
I dream of love as time runs through my hand_

Time, pain, roses, - these generalized, trite images, these despised clichés were all so very real to him now. They were just images! Just some song that he happened to be carrying inside of him and that had come out during a time of weakness… he never though he had this power. To wreck all good that touched him.

_Sweet desert rose… Each of her veils, a secret promise  
This desert flower  
No sweet perfume ever tortured me more than this…" _

Yes, this was true as well. 


	37. PART III: Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

He lost. _He_ had lost.

It was still not sinking in.

There was nothing to loose, and still he lost.

Feeling himself turning into a purple rose had to be the strangest experience in his endless life. He wasn't quite sure at what point he fully understood that he was doomed to be a flower for the rest of eternity. When the realization came, there was an odd sort of calm. And then a suicidal desire to laugh. Clouds, raindrops and flowers…how incredibly sad it all was. And yet hilarious in its incomprehensiveness.

Jareth the Goblin King – a spiky plant with a sweet-smelling flower of a purplish hue…oh my.

And then it hit him for a second time. And he was dumbstruck with horror. This was forever. This was much, much worse than death.

And as images of Sarah's rose-garden flashed before his eyes, The Goblin King cried out in agony. He, too, was doomed to be here, in this uninhabited world of shimmering shadows and blooming roses…and that was it.

And nothing more.

Nothing to do but exist, nothing to do… would he loose all abilities? Speech? Thought? Everything fading, until nothing, absolutely nothing was left …except for a shell-like being that then truly became a shadow of a wraith contained with a flower.

And nothing more. Forever.

Pride and the resolve to be silent, dignity and all thoughts of power were completely forgotten. Jareth called her name, called with something of a fervor, a passion not for flesh, a hunger not for domination, but an eternal longing for life.

Life that he had not valued, life that he had wasted on wisps of smoke and crooked mirrors. Life that was now in the hands of the one who was intended for sacrifice and consumption.

In her hands.

He called and called, throwing all his vanity to the wind, to the nothingness he was slowly sinking into, until he though he could call no more, until he though he would just fade, becoming the wind that rustled the grass and the leaves, still calling, calling, calling her name. Only forever.

It was pity that first moved her. She realized that he was a prisoner of both her image and his own shadow nature. He was torn between the two, unable. Beautiful, alluring and intoxicating, and at the same time sharp, venomous.

And she had done it.

_"…__And if I built this fortress around your heart…  
Encircled you in trenches and barbed wire  
Then let me build a bridge, for I cannot fill the chasm  
And let me set the battlements on fire…"_

It had might have been a song once. She probably heard it hears ago – somewhere on the radio. But now, the words came out of her, as though they were her very own.

They rang out, and she knew what she had to do to free him.

She had to let him go.

Let him go and leave everything in his hands. It was his battle, and not hers. He had to face himself and find out who he really is.

She had thought him to be a villain, then a romantic villain, then a tragic hero.

Now she realized that she really had no idea who or what Jareth was. And the part of him that she loved was not all of him. And he would never bee himself if she continued to see and want only that part of him.

He needed to come to terms with his fragmented self.

She let go of the rose and let the wind carry it away, saying her last goodbye.

Suddenly, as if the winds of time had just shifted their course and turned around, everything sped backwards, unraveling, unraveling, faster and faster, until, breathless, Jareth found himself on his balcony, gazing out at the star-studded sky above his own Labyrinth.

Night had finally come here; putting out the characteristic orange glow and putting everything to rest that had not been at rest for millions of ages.

Things had changed.


	38. PART III: Chapter 4

**Chapter IV **

And then, the letter came.

It was an ordinary looking letter. No special effects or ink or fancy envelope.

Nothing.

Plain white paper and plain blue ink. And the plain words that rang like bells, leaving nothing, not a single corner, in silence.

Yes, it is over. Final or not, I do not know…- it is hard to tell whether I am relieved it is "goodbye' or not… but there is no question about the finality of the moment. It is there; a visible, tangible, audible presence…almost a caress.

The farewell… but first- a thank you.

You have given me much, awoken much within me, and, in a way, shaped who I am. I know that there is no going back, no "reliving" it differently… like loosing an innocence, a certain view of the world, - it has happened, and there is no changing back. But I am glad that I can never be as I was before. I have grown; grown older and more wary of the world…and maybe less trusting, and maybe just a bit more cruel… but also more imaginative, more aware of cause and effect, more careful of my own wishes and words … I have grown. I have learned lessons of love, of fear and hope, of falling and flying, of fire and ice:

I have grown.

Thanks to you, thanks to you.

And through the discomfort and fear, through the unbearable sadness and insufferable invasion of mind and consciousness, you have nonetheless taught me something so valuable that I am almost tempted to say that it was worth the suffering and darkness of the Underground. That lesson. The one that proves to be so connected so intertwined with the very fibers of my very being…and I know, too, that it was a gift. I did not accept your offer, your terms, your bargain, - ever. But, never the less, with some solitary spark of unforeseen kindness, you gifted me with an experience that has shaped who I am.

I thank you for that.

I cannot but despise you for attempting to invade, devour and manipulate the one within me who opened my mind to you, making it oh so easy, so tantalizingly easy to seize, to prey upon my pity, to twist it into a strange form of attraction… but for the lesson…for that lesson, I thank you.

And now the connection between us must be ruptured, cut torn, shattered. And, inevitably, pain will follow, - searing pain of loss of second self, of beauty, of a strange dark wilderness… of a lonely world, of a lonely heart… but this must happen, for I have grown.

In a sense, you have wrought this end for yourself – you knew, even before I ever stopped to think, that this would be the end. All ends of your existence will be like this…and this, like your unchangeable nature, will continue forever, only forever…

Be that as it may, we must bear it; we must part. I have grown. Now the never-ending Labyrinth, with turns and twists and oubliettes, the Labyrinth that seemed impossible, unfair, and unsolvable, is now much too confining for me. There's not enough air, not enough space for me to survive. I must move on, must leave this world. Your world. The one I have grown so used to, the one that has grown so used to me… the one that has adapted to my needs, my lessons, my voices and dreams. But now, now that I nave learned those lessons, lived those dreams, catching glimpses of new ones, solved the riddles and understood…now it is much, much too small. Time has come to leave… only forever.

Farewell… Farewell.

I would not wish you back again. It is over. It has passed – like rain on the mountains, like fog in the rays of the morning's light… and so, too shall the pain pass…like a cloud… like a haunting melody of a familiar song…it will echo and re-echo, eerily playing peek-a-boo with my consciousness, somewhere on the edge of dreaming and waking, but will never sound again… and that is as it should be…farewell…

…There's such a fooled heart, beating so fast,

In search of new dreams, a love that will last…

You knew. Does it make the pain any less? Does it? Then why do I cry out at hearing the pain in your voice, the doomed sensation of never again? …A fooled heart… yours or mine?

…A love that will last…

Yes.

Unknowingly, you were right, - more right than you think, than you know… I must indeed go on, must find my own wings, find them and spread them across the evening sky, - from horizon to horizon… I no longer fit under the shadow of yours.

I will walk a different Labyrinth… Aboveground, yes…high aboveground… high above the world, I will walk on the edge of a sharp, quivering blade…for a while alone… but not for long, not forever. Darker and deeper than any of your whimsical oubliettes will be the chasms and abysses beneath my feet, and harder, much harder it will be to balance and keep myself from falling…but, I have grown. Grown stronger.

I will pass that way, will find my way in the unfathomable maze of razor-sharp mountain peaks and illusive starlight, of clouds and snow and vibrating thoughts… in search of new love… in search of true love… in search of… and finding it.

Stray but a little… and you will fail…

But I will not stray.

I thank you.

I have learned the lesson.

I have lived through darkness.

I have understood.

I refuse to be manipulated.

I am free.

I will find my dream.

I thank you.

Farewell.

No address and no signature… but there was no doubt as to who had sent it.

No, it wasn't Sarah. He could not believe it to be her. It wasn't, couldn't be, not _his _Sarah. That child that had worshipped him, that victim of fantasy that could not even control her emotions, how could she have changed this much?

No…

It was the essence of woman, the understanding of a mother, the love of a child, and the gratitude of a lover. Everything that was a heart sounded in that letter; that emotion, without beginning or end, that was simply a part of the endless spiral of love.

And yet…

And yet it was she.

All forgiving, all encompassing… and somehow grateful for his evil intentions.

It was that gratitude that started the pain, that compelled him to read and re-read, until he knew each word, each sound, until he didn't have to hold the letter to see it and here it all around him. He did not want to. This was defeat. Utter defeat, as his purpose in life suddenly keeled over dead.

Tears could not rebuild that bridge, the last bridge he had, the last one she burned – the others having fallen out from under his feet just as he was took the final step.

_But, then, what was he crying for? This would pass; there would be more victims, easier ones. His power would return; he would still be great, - _his reason whispered to him.

_All that remained was to shut a part of himself off from the rest, off from the world, so that it could not ever again interfere, - _it said.

_ Oh, and the letter would have to be ripped of course – he couldn't have it as an endless reminder, could he? No, it must go, must be forgotten, put away as soon as possible, cast into the oblivion of the unconsciousness_.

The Goblin King struggled with himself, the 2 aspects of his fae nature declared total war, all resources having already been thrown into use a long time ago. And, yes, everything was indeed at stake.

This was not Sarah's Goblin Battle.

His love for her, strengthened by the awe at her powerful courage and strength of her heart wrestled with his habitual fae nature.

Habit - millions of ages of luring, seducing, ruling and plotting.

And it was in the hands of habit that the burning letter, that last bridge, ended up.

He ripped it in two, with one fluid motion. And fell onto his knees, unable stand the fire that had taken his whole being.


	39. PART III: Chapter 5

**Chapter V **

The letter sounded in the night air, each and every word was spoken by the wind, reflected by the stars in the now amethyst sky. Every word could be heard in the rustling of the leaves, as again and again they sang the words that would not be silent. They came form a heart, a heart brave and pure, and untouched by the shadow that it had now conquered.

The smoke cleared away and the mirrors shattered, and the stars in the night sky could not be dimmed by the clouds of lies that circled around the castle like vultures.

He looked up, pale.

The Light, – shining brighter and brighter filled him with pain. Building, building pain, bone-breaking, nerve-tearing, fire-and-ice pain that seared his soul. It grew and grew, until all of a sudden it was gone.

And there was nothing but light, and nothing but love where dark nets of plotting and power lay. That place that she had occupied in his web was now only a spot of dizzying light, unbearable in its brilliancy and clarity, and devastating to the shadow.

There was no power over her.

None over her heart.

The connection that the shadow had created was broken. The light pulsed and shone for a few seconds…and then faded, leaving a shimmering trace in the darkness of the Underground, in the darkness of his former thought.

And he was, as before, alone.

No. Not as before.

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The End

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Thank you for reading!

Take care,

Nimhithriel


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